


Unbreakable Bonds

by findinghiddenisles



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findinghiddenisles/pseuds/findinghiddenisles
Summary: More of the other than they realize, Christine and Erik must come to understand that their bond is not so easily broken.Mature Content within.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 84
Kudos: 104





	1. Apertura

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone's lovely comments on my initial Tumblr post of this piece. I look forward to continuing it and giving Erik and Christine the healthy and happy relationship they deserve. The first chapter has been edited for grammatical and linguistic errors.

“You left me once, Christine. I couldn’t survive you leaving again. Be happy, but, please not by torturing me.”

His words echoed through her; cold and true and made her feel as if she were nothing more than a….Phantom. 

She came back for him. She took her time, cleared her head, and actually made a decision without a million voices, including his, clouding her thoughts and she chose him. He was wrong; she felt whole when she was with him. 

“But, I am here now. I’m choosing you. I wish to be happy with you.” 

“Christine, please just go. I do not want you here.” 

He glanced back at her; away from the piano for a moment. His tall thin frame, elegant and surreal against the printed paper on the walls. His white mask, pearlescent, reflecting the dancing candles in the room. An obelisk against the mahogany. 

The pale iris’ swimming like a pool of gold with unshed tears. 

Love is wishing for the happiness of someone you love, regardless, of your own. 

She walked slowly up to him. Being as quiet as she could. And gently, so very gently, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders; standing behind him. Her left arm slinging across his torso, palm resting on his right side, the other across his chest to hold the left side of his masked face. At least, he still had the mouthless mask on. As her embrace had progressed, his body, like waves, had gone through moments of relaxation and tension. The final breath of air came as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder; softly smelling his hair and trying to stop the quivering in her lips. Erik. Erik. So very Erik. 

“Please….” she whispered ”…..be happy with me. No one gave me a chance to speak, to think, to breathe on my own that night and the ones before it. I was so worried for you, for Raoul…” Erik tensed at the mention of his name. The tendons in his forearms growing taught across the keys. ”….and even for your friend, Monsieur Kahn,” she breathed, trying to calm herself. He was so closed off. It was both their faults that it had come to this. Him, for reacting too quickly, and her for not quickly enough. “I breathed again….on my own. Clear headed. And I came back to you. Please don’t send me away. Not when my happiness is so closely tied to yours.” She nuzzled behind his ear softly rubbing her left fingers against the exposed jawline; calmly listening to the rise and fall of his breath. It was too calm, too resigned for her liking. 

Wetness hit her palms. He began to turn away from her arms and she let him go. 

“I don’t believe I ever loved you, Christine. Not like the boy does. I believe I fell in love with your kindness. The first ever shown to me by a woman. So, therefore, it is with our best interest that we no longer be apart of each other’s lives.”

He faced her as he spoke, still sitting on the piano bench. His hands tightly held to his knees. He peered towards the door; his head turned away from her. She stood so close to him, almost within his open knees. 

His outward calm appearance was an illusion to hide the cacophony of thoughts within his head. How could he tell her? How could he say that to her? He loved her! Her! His will, his heart, his loins, heaven help him, cried out for her. Her laugh, her voice, her opinion, her conversation. Christine. Christine. But, his mind, his mind knew all too well. He would drain her. Never be good enough for her. She can deny it and he knows she believed it; that they could be happy. But, he can see it. He would slowly kill her. He’d never lay a hand on her, never harm her. But, the death that always surrounded him would take her too. He had to let her go again. If this was the only way, telling her a lie, then so be it. She’d move on, have a better life without him. A family. Friends. Children. A singing career. But, without him. 

He reminded himself over and over again like a tumbler in a music box. _She only thinks she loves me._

A part of him wonders if not speaking the truth to her was like taking away her choice; was once again acting like Ra—THAT BOY and taking away her choice. Did he want to be like that? 

_You will never be her strength. You will drain her. Life and Death walk different paths._

His mind reminded him why he was doing this. It didn’t matter. She had to live, be happy. He’s no longer living; not even in this pretty tomb. 

Something brought him back from his thoughts. A soft, sort of….music. A rhythm. He looked up…too quickly for his liking. He had to remain steadfast. 

The look of sadness in her face broke him but he could not give in. Tears streamed down her face. Quiet, shallow breathing descended forth from her as her lip quivered. He was weak. So weak. He held out his hand to her. Her own fingers rising to meet him as she moved closer, now standing between his legs. He held both her hands between them. He stared at them. How nice it is to hold her hands. To rub the backs of them. To see them swallowed by his own so gently. He was capable of gentleness, was he not? Apparently so. For her. 

She met his eyes and she just looked at him……as if it was the last time she would gaze upon him. For so long, they took each other in. Feeling one, whole, as long as their hands were bound. Christine couldn’t take it any longer. She raised her hand and slowly cupped his lower jaw. His exposed skin. He noticed this. That she touched his skin. Not the mask. As if she wanted…..No, she couldn’t. She stroked his skin softly. She smiled, resigned, tears still gracing her cheeks and he held her hand tighter. He wanted to kiss away her tears. He wanted to pull her onto his lap and slowly kiss and lick away the tears from the pools of her cheeks. Pull them from the swell of her lips. Taste them on her tongue. Gods, how he wanted her. He couldn’t control himself. He raised her hand up a little so that their palms may meet. As he curled his fingers to twine with hers, so did she. So perfectly in sync, they were. She stopped her stroking of his cheek. 

“Erik, May I take off the mask?” 

His heart sank. Why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have a moment of feeling like an ordinary man and not a corpse? Why must she offer him no respite? 

She loved him because he wasn’t an ordinary man. He didn’t understand that. 

“I wish to see the face of the man I love, of my friend, of my angel of music, for the last time….before we part.” Her breathing was ragged and the sadness poured out of her eyes and like acid, blazed across their souls. 

Erik bowed his head slightly, a nod, leaning towards her hand. As he consents, his fingers tightens around hers where they are still touching. She slips her hand from his and with reverence pulls the mask from his face; letting her hands comb across his temples and into his hair. The mask slips silently to the cushioned bench. She pulls her hands forward, dragging her fingertips across the sensitive skin on his face, across his cheekbones, down the nub where his nose bridge stopped, pressing across his jaw. She gasps softly as his lips open when her thumb crosses them; unable to control her pupils dilating. He’d never seen desire in her eyes, so he didn’t recognize it now. She took him in; unbothered by the skeletal visage. She adored watching the tendons in his cheeks move, she realized. If they were lovers, she would have teased him of the very slight color difference between his exposed mouth and jaw and where the mask usually rests. Tan lines, my dear? She would say. But, they were not lovers and never would be. Tears flooded again. She pressed her thumbs more firmly against his cheeks and the defined tendons. A moan slipped from him and he gently rubbed at the inside of her wrist; his right arm curling about her waist. 

_Do not give in. Do not give in._

“Tell me you love me no longer, Erik, and I will leave. I will not bother you again.” Tears streaming down her cheeks.

Don Juan glared at him from its perch on the bookshelf. _Is this the point of no return?_

He can’t. He can’t deny he loves her. No. He couldn’t possibly. His mind, a violent mix of his voice, of the voices of his mother and the circus men, and every person who ever beheld his face, echoed with in his head. _So, you will seal her in this tomb with you, forever? Just as expected. Death only ever takes!_

She had the bravery to look into his eyes and hold his face as she spoke and he returned it as he gave his reply, “Christine….I mistook my feelings for you. I have never loved you. I believe….I said this.” He tried to add some temperament to his voice, instead of the desperate longing he truly felt. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Her breath hitched. A soft sob echoed and like a scythe cut across his heart. She never looked away. A hopeless smile crossed her face as she wiped a stray tear from his eye. Traitors! His eyes dropped to her lips and hers to his. She pulled him softly to her, waiting for him to stop her. She had to kiss him goodbye. It was the last thing she would ever take of him. He didn’t pull away from her and so, their lips met, pulling softly at each other. Their first kiss. His head found a better angle to kiss her at and a soft moan escaped from both of them. She didn’t understand. She didn’t want to. She held his face with one hand and dropped the other to caress the side of his neck under his jaw. Her thumb greedy for the texture of his skin. She didn’t care that the tip of her nose would touch where his should be. She didn’t care at all….not when their kisses were becoming deeper, longer, hungrier. Their tongues entwining and tasting each other. How she wanted him. His own were just as tumultuous. God, why did he kiss her? Why did he pull her closer to his carcass? His loins stirred rapidly, his trousers tightening over his arousal. Tugs and jolts of arousal cause her core to throb. But, she had to stop. He didn’t want her? Why was he kissing her if he didn’t want her?

_Because you’re the first woman to do so. He doesn’t want you for you. He’s not kissing you. He wants only what he sees. Everyone is right. Your head is stuck too much in the clouds. There are no fairies to be seen….there never were._

She pulled back as the natural rhythm of their kissing slowed. Her thoughts had interrupted. But, she couldn’t bring herself to step away. Her face, a grimace, holding back tears as she pressed her cheek to his, her hand still on his neck. 

“I love you, my Erik. Goodbye, my love.” 

With a parting kiss to his cheek and lips, she slowly pulled herself from his arms, her hands sliding down the top of his shirt, her fingertips tasting his chest where he had loosed the buttons. Her body, her arms went slipping down his wrists and through his palms. He reached out for her slowly as she moved away from him like a fading light; too stunned to react fast. She looked at him for a moment; sorrow coloring her visage as she turned her back to him. Her slow walk to the door seemed like a lifetime. With one final glance back towards him, she forced a smile upon her lips, her hand resting on the open locks. They watched each other, screaming internally for the other. Her smile faltered and she swiftly moved around the door and closed it behind her. He didn’t register the fact that she knew how to open the locks from inside, how to shut the door from the outside. Open them, too. The locking of the door echoed too loudly for him. Like something in his heart was closing too. 

_Christine_ . He whispered. His arms finally lowered to his lap. He gazed upon his hands. They felt so empty yet so heavy. _Christine_. 

_I love you, my Erik. Goodbye, my love._

**_What have I done…_ **

**_What have I done…_ **

  
  
  



	2. Ritornello

Days had passed. He wasn't sure how many. Whether from hunger, or thirst, or sheer force of will, his mind had conjured up images of Christine moving about his home. Sometimes, he would see her swaying to his music, or sitting beside him with her head on his shoulder. But, like a ghost, or watercolors on wet paper, she seemed to exist within his home as much as she did within his mind. He played till his fingers grew raw. It was only the sight of his own blood against the ivory keys that pulled him from his despair. 

☾ ☾ ☾

For a moment, Christine considered returning to Raoul. But, she was incapable of lying to herself or to him. She had grown too much, come to understand herself too well to allow herself to fall back into a state where she was not independent. Yes, she wanted love. She wanted a partner in life. But, what she thought she wanted had changed. Love no longer looked like memories shaped by the past, but of a future carved for herself. 

At her arrival to the Giry’s apartment, Meg and her mother did not know what to think. Of course, they were happy to see her. But, the resigned look in her eye gave them no promise of a happy visit. Christine had come to understand, through the events at the Opera, that Madame Giry was more aware of Erik’s corporeal presence than others. As they inquired about why she was not at Raoul’s home, why she was alone, and if she were ok, she considered concealing the truth from them. She considered warping it so that it may be easier to have herself understood. But, she was tired of cutting down pieces of herself for others. She told the truth, of the events in the cellars, of her return to Raoul’s home, of her weeks of grieving and finally! Finally! The understanding she had been avoiding for so long and why she feels so hurt by both Raoul and Erik! She admitted to them that she loved Erik; that she only sees Raoul as a good friend from her past. It came as a surprise to Meg, but not to Madame Giry. Christine told them of her return to his home, but she left out the details of her visit, wanting to keep their last moments together private and cocooned in the ethereal way she remembered it. 

“What, my dear, would you like to do now?” Madame Giry held her cane between her legs, relaxing her shoulders. The only sign that she felt compassion for Christine’s predicament. She knew what it was like to start at a place of so much love only to come out without any of it. Meg watched her friend and mother in slight confusion and shock. She kept quiet for now; knowing she'd be able to arrest the remainder of the story from Christine later. 

“You once told me that should I ever want to, that you would be happy for me to join Meg and you in teaching the art of ballet. I would like to do so...now.” Raoul had gifted Madame Giry and Meg a studio with an apartment above it, so that they may have a means of income. This was after the second round of new managers had fired anyone involved with the Opera Ghost incidents. They wanted to “clear the air” as they phrased it. Raoul had felt partially responsible, or so he had said. But, Christine and Madame Giry saw his purchase of the studio as a display of his wealth. An attempt at coaxing Christine into greater displays of affection toward him or allowing him the quick wedding he insisted on. If anything, his behavior pushed her closer toward the realization that she loved the Opera Ghost. She fears what Raoul’s reaction will be come morning when he discovers her missing. 

“My dear…” Madame Giry stood like a mistress of punishment over her daughter and Christine, “You are more than welcome to stay here and be a teacher at our little school. Rest for the remainder of the week and we will begin your introductions on Monday.” Six days of rest and not thinking sounded awfully nice for the emotionally drained young woman. But, she knew that as long as she breathed, her mind would never rest. It never had. 

Meg, fortunately, saw the exhaustion in Christine’s eyes as she showed her to the spare bedroom. Worried for her, but curious, Meg tried to cheer her friend up with promises of gossip and girl-talk the following evening after everything had settled a little, something Christine _did_ look forward to. Although, one problem still lay ahead of them for the time being. Christine informed them that Raoul did not know where she was, nor did the servants. Respecting her privacy, but glad she was safe with them, Madame Giry and Meg understood that they may be woken early tomorrow by a worried Vicomte on their doorstep. Although, the older woman did wonder as to the whereabouts of Christine prior to her arrival to their home in the early evening. In her story, she did not mention having been to Erik’s home early, nor for very long. Regardless, Madame Giry was dead set on letting Raoul know that she was there and safe but would not speak to him for a few days so that she may rest. The pair became surprised when Christine firmly stated that she would rather face him now than wait. Meg found herself inspired by the strength in her friend’s eyes. 

As she lay in bed, Christine’s mind reeled with the events of the day. Realizing, as she stroked the pillow beside her, that this was not the bed she expected to be lying in when the moon rose above the seine. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've incorporated the "Christine, Meg and Madame Giry" dynamic they shared in the ALW adaption. It worked best with the support system I wanted to build. I will also, possibly, incorporate that Christine worked both in the choir and as a ballet dancer. Yes, more angst! But, Im trying to build a story here! GAH! Movement comes in the next chapter on both Christine and Erik's part. Ill try to have it out before Tuesday! No promises!


	3. Toccata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly told in the form of a flashback. Everything that is Italicized is flashback.  
> EDIT: there have been minor changes made. grammatical and thematical errors. as well as Christine's conversation with Nadir.

Staring up at the moon’s light filtering through the curtains in her room, she tried to fight the rising question in her: How could she have been so mistaken of his love for her? She had thought Erik valued her for far beyond her simple kindness to him...beyond just her voice....

She fought back tears and the heaviness that lay over her heart. Her life, her future had vastly changed in a matter of hours. This day had started out like many of the others since she arrived at the estate of the De Changy Family, she thought to herself. Except, this time, Raoul would be gone for almost two days. He had left the night before and would not be returning home til the following morning….

_Christine was startled awake by the sound of a knock._

_“Mademoiselle Daaé! It is time for breakfast. Do you require assistance getting dressed?” Her maid, Mélanie, inquired. Mélanie is a kind girl, if not a devoted servant to the estate, consistently updating Raoul of Christine’s doings. Christine could not blame her, as she was paid handsomely to do so. At the very least, Raoul’s family treated their servants well._

_“No, thank you, I can manage.” The rap of a heel on the marbled floors was Christine’s clue that she was now alone. Every morning her maid would ask and every morning she would decline. Raoul had raised a bit of a fuss over her declining to be dressed by a maid, but eventually relented when she told him that she would never feel comfortable doing so. ‘No matter how much a Vicomtesse does not dress herself’ she had added, quoting him. His ‘threats’ of making her a Vicomtesse were making her more and more flighty. She sighed to herself, stretching as she rose from the soft bed. Her shoulders ached from hunching over at night, clutching the pillow that she would lay beside her to make her feel safer. She felt bad about considering his eagerness to make her his wife, threats. But, that's how those words made her feel. Not to mention, she was beginning to feel increasingly guilty about withdrawing from him; being less affectionate._ **_How do I tell Raoul that I do not love him in the manner with which a woman loves a man?_ **

_Christine pondered the question as she traipsed to her toilette. Washing her face in this little basin filled with rose water and jasmine was the best part of the morning. The water was warm, fresh, and relaxing. It smelled so much like….Images of Erik flashed unbidden before her eyes. She threw the towel away from her. She was still so overwhelmingly angry. Erik’s behavior that night was inexcusable, but she agonized more over the fact that she understood it; loved him despite all of it. Reprehensible, as it may be. She raised her gaze from the water to the mirror, desiring a clearer picture to see herself with. She looked stressed, exhausted, and drained. Staring at her haunting visage in the mirror, she realized that she could not do anything about Raoul til she spoke to Erik. What she would say to him….? She did not know. Raoul had urged her, before he left, to spend some time outside and get some color into her cheeks. Of all things he had been doing wrong, giving her leave to roam the gardens alone was one thing he had done right._

_So she did. With an indiscernible pep in her step, Christine set out to get some breakfast and then enjoy the remainder of the morning in the gardens._

☾ ☾ ☾

_Breakfast being set before her actually looked delicious. The 3 servants setting the table for her carried in trays of fruit, bread, roasted fish in butter sauces and pastries of chocolate and cream. She disliked the over abundance though, and always mentioned that any remaining food could be enjoyed by the staff. She did not know if this was “proper” but did so anyway. What she hated the most was looking across the table and not seeing anyone there. She felt so alone. Even if she was not in love with Raoul, it did not mean she did not love him. He was her dearest friend, the little boy who rescued her scarf from the sea, and a part of her childhood. She would not willingly leave him out of her life._

_Christine laughed aloud at her thoughts while she sipped at her tea. I am in love with Erik, she said to herself, trying to get used to those words. The reality of those words and why she felt so sullen in the weeks following the events in the cellars had taken a lot of time to sink in. Her mind and heart unable to synchronize For a while, when things were at their worst, she truly felt like she loved Raoul. But, her mind never wandered towards being a Vicomtess, or having a husband, or marriage. It was just about not feeling so alone. Her blossoming feelings for Erik as Erik, and not the Angel of Music, were just starting to flower when they were egregiously stepped on by both the man in question and her suitor. So, when those first few days in Raoul’s home had passed, and the concept of being a wife to Raoul became more frequently mentioned, she had begun to realize why she felt so off-kilter. It was not Raoul she pined for, it was not his frequent days spent away from her that ailed her. It was the absence of Erik that left her feeling so bereft._

_Christine was brought out of her deep thoughts by a maid who came in to replenish her tea. She politely declined, patted her mouth with her napkin and rose from the table. She informed them that she would be in the gardens._

_Stepping out into the gardens, and feeling the warm sun on her skin gave her a renewed sense of hope._

**_What would I even say to Erik?_ ** _Being honest with herself, Christine realized that her knowledge of Erik was limited. Her feelings may be true, as stolen as their moments together were, but what she knew of Erik besides the facade he liked to put forth was thin at best. She knew there was something deeper to Erik than being the Phantom of the Opera. She had figured that much out during the screaming match between Erik and his friend---THE DAROGA, as Erik had called him. Monsieur Kahn knows Erik! He knew Erik well enough to guide Raoul down to the cellars! She could ask him her questions! Christine’s excitement at her realization quelled when she considered that he may not be so forthcoming with her. Maybe, out of a desire to protect her from Erik...or the opposite. She would have to do something about that._

 **_What do I want to come out of speaking to Erik?_ ** _She thought for a moment, staring into the eye of a white rose. She had no doubt she loved him. Not anymore. She knew that she would never be truly happy and fulfilled without both love and music in her life. And that…that was Erik. Christine wanted a relationship without lies, nothing but whole truths, and gentle honesty, communication!_ **_So many things could have been prevented with a little communication!_ ** _She said to herself in an exasperated manner, throwing her arms out in indignation._

_Now that her thoughts solidified, she moved to the next step. Escape. Christine continued her path through the gardens wondering if there was anyway she could climb the wall or if there was a tiny hole she may crawl through. Her silent assessment of the perimeter revealed nothing but perfection. Even the De Changy garden is immaculate, she thought to herself. And, even if she were to escape without alerting the servants, where would she even go to find Monsieur Kahn? She raised her hand to her chin and stopped for a moment; desperately trying to remember a piece of information that could lead her to his whereabouts. She began her walk again, slower this time, trying to find a rhythm that would allow her to recall something she had heard, but forgotten._

_THAT WAS IT! As Raoul had dragged her away, up through the cellars, Monsieur Kahn had informed them that should they ever be in need of his assistance that they could call upon him at the Rue de Rivoli, across the street from the Tuileries, swiftly spelling out the apartment number. Now, all she had to figure out was a way to leave the estate without being noticed._

☾ ☾ ☾

_That was something easier said than done! The servants were vigilant...to an extent. When the master was around, they made sure they were seen at her heels. When he wasn't around, which he often wasn’t, they often gave her some girth. Raoul’s absence and refusal to tell her where he was aggravated her to no end. He treated her as if she were one of the antique ceramic vases that his family kept in the corridor. In a way, she was glad of his absence, for it allowed her the time and headspace to realize her feelings for Erik. It took her even longer to fully understand them, something she wanted to do before she made any move back towards him._

_Stepping silently through the glass doors that led to the gardens, Christine observed the room. The room was quiet, still, like the paintings in the hallway. She headed in, confidently, striding through the main corridor, keeping herself to the runner to silence her footsteps._

_Christine heard the tap of two maids coming down the corridor. She straightened her back and with a regal air she did not know she possessed, she strolled forth. The maids stopped in their tracks and curtsied._

_“Is there anything you require of us, Mademoiselle Daaé?” The older woman asked. Christine straightened her shoulders._

_“No, I am returning to my room to read and then take a nap. I do not wish to be disturbed.” After a moment, and out of fear she did not sound like herself, she added, “...and please, do not bother preparing lunch for myself.”_

_“Of course, Madame.” Christine smiled at the woman’s response and gave her thanks, walking away a little calmer._

_As she turned the corner, she paused to see if any guards stood at the front gate or the nearby servant’s entrance. As she returned to the main hallway, happy to discover there were not any guards, the voices of the two maids caught her ear and she paused._

_“It is a shame, the poor dear. Probably, too saddened to carry on after the happenings at the Opera and the absence of her fiancé.” The older woman’s voice swam down the corridor. Christine, a normally calm woman whose emotions reside mostly in her head, unless provoked, shook in sudden anger at the belittling of her person by the maids. She was not “too saddened to carry on”! It felt as if she was breathing for the first time even amongst all this. The sudden strength that came from taking hold of your choices. She lay a string of silent swedish curses to herself about unnecessary drama._

_“But, madame! She should not be so forlorn, even with the Vicomte being away so much. Why! He left just yesterday to procure antique fabric and jewels for her veil and crown. For the wedding, of course! Many of his outings have been in regards to wedding festivities as such!” The young maid let out breathlessly, eager to state what she knew. Christine let out a choked gasp, the fury in her eyes making the once tawny iris’ into black pools. This is why she promised that she would never marry! Men! Thinking they know what is best for women! Is that not what Raoul had used against Erik, to convince her that Erik only_ _thought_ _he knew what was best for her? A vine of disgust rose up her spine._

_“But, the girl does not act as if she knows! With the way she skulks about and barely leaves her rooms.” Christine was brought back to their conversation, forgetting her current mission for a moment._

_“She might just be timid in the face of her soon-to-be husband! She should be happy that he has traveled almost a day on horseback with his brother to procure the treasures!” Christine blanched at that._

_Christine shivered at the thought of Raoul traveling so far to procure a wedding gift or accoutrement for her without her presence, without asking her to accompany him. He knew she did not like the extravagance he and his sister were so used to and yet he insisted upon it! Why was he doing this knowing it made her unhappy? This news frustrated her to no end. Why, he was no better than Erik, at times! No, Erik had always picked out gifts for her with the delicacy of a lover! She remembered that as surprising as it was, everything in her room beneath the Opera was exactly to her liking. Subtle but bright and comfortable. He had paid attention to her. Raoul’s act of deceit chilled her bones. It was not the intention of a gift that bothered her, but rather his belief that she need not be informed or involved. A fortitude tightened her muscles and solidified her intent. She felt grateful for her sudden confidence and moved a little quicker up the stairs to her bedroom._

_Once inside, Christine stowed her coin purse within the folds of her dress and pulled on a heavy cloak. It was late summer, early fall. The wind was starting to blow and left a slight chill in the air. She would need it. She removed the silk corded slippers from her feet and drew out the boots from under her bed. As she exited the room, a small knife that lay on the dresser caught her eye. It was small, sharp, and mostly used to open envelopes. On an act of impulse, she added the knife to her pockets. She would not venture the streets of Paris, alone, as a woman, without some method of protection. Impulsive, she may be. Stupid, she was not!_

_Moving about silently, she made her way down the steps towards the servant’s entrance near the porte-cochère. Her gown that day was worn without bustles or rigid corsets, but made of several layers of heavy material for the cooling temperatures. She was grateful for the increase in movement the thin stays afforded, at least. Gathering her skirts, Christine broke out into a run. The church nearby had a trail through the woods that led to the side of the De Changy estate. From the church, she could acquire a brougham and ride into Paris. She would walk a distance and hail another; not wanting anyone who was involved with the De Changy family to know her destination. Nor did she want to be found before she could complete her task. It was late morning; an hour til noon. She had time._

_The run through the forest exhilarated Christine. The freedom to run, to have a task, a goal, filled her with determination. As she saw the white walls of the chapel hall, she slowed her pace, not wanting anyone to suspect her. The afternoon mass was releasing and there would be plenty of transport available to shepherd people always from the church. Her father and her would always take the ones in the back. Those weren’t as expensive. An idea struck her and she strode past all the elaborate carriages and horses to the smaller, simpler ones in the rear. She spotted a small covered carriage with an older man in a rugged cap. This would do nicely._

_“Good Afternoon, Mademoiselle. Are you in need of a brougham?” She smiled at the man, nodded, and gave him directions to an address a mile or so away from the Rue de Rivoli. It was far enough to not be conspicuous, but not so dangerous to get another carriage. Picking up her skirts, she swiftly boarded the carriage. Tapping on the roof to signal she was ready. The old man did not speak much and that she was thankful for. Her head was too filled with planning the next few steps to truly make inane conversation. She was never one for small talk. As the older gentleman steered her away from the chapel, she carefully eyed the people milling about outside the window. The curtains concealed enough to keep her identity hidden, but allowed her to see through. Thankfully, nobody had noticed her._ **_Just like they usually don’t._ ** _She thought to herself._

 **_Not unless you are singing._ ** _Another voice entered her head. One that sounded a lot like Erik. She smiled to herself, realizing the thought was correct. But, it saddened her. Raoul had only noticed her when she sang solo. Erik had noticed her IN THE CHOIR! She shook her head. She sent a silent prayer out…._ **_May it all work out in the end. May we all be happy._ **

_As they left the church ground, Christine grew nervous. She watched and waited and listened for the sound of galloping horses. But, none came. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Of course, she was content about the fact that she was one step closer to clearing the air between her and Erik. Telling him exactly what was on her mind! But...there was something in her that understood that she was leaving behind a part of her childhood. The one Raoul represented. Christine also realized that she did not regret stepping forward and taking her life into her own hands. Whatever the outcome may be._

_Consumed in her thoughts she had not noticed the distance they had crossed or their entrance into Paris. Looking outside, she realized she was coming upon her first stop. As she stepped out, she nodded to the driver and began walking in the opposite direction. She would find another closer towards the city rather than away from it. She raised her arm at the sight of one. The driver quickly halted his horses and she crossed the street to meet him._

_“Good Evening, monsieur. To the Rue de Rivoli. Across from the Tuileries.” Christine handed her coin and started at the sight of the driver. A very gentle face with sloping eyes and flaxen hair reminded her much of a woman. The driver’s eyes opened as they met. Christine smiled and nodded at the young woman and hopped into the brougham. Even if her driver was dressed as a man, she hoped no one but her would recognize that. It humbled her a little to be reminded that if it hadn't been for Madame Giry or Mama Velarius, before she passed, Christine would have been forced to dress as a man in order to work or worse. She knew it had been a dying concern of her father’s._

_Her mind continued to wander, aimlessly, while she sat in the brougham._ **_Why am I doing all this?_ ** _It was, truly, for both her and Erik. She wanted him to be happy and she wanted to be happy, too. She hoped that with some honesty between them that they could share that together._

 _Erik’s allure lay in more than just his voice. To her, at least. She loved him for many different reasons. Yes, his face was truly shocking. But, how many men or women had her father and her come across in their travels that were scarred from war or violence? It was more or less the same thing. With clarity, Christine realized that it was his violent change in character that shocked her so; not so much his face. She shivered as she remembered him forcing her nails into his face and the sudden collapse of his body to the floor. His sobs echoing through the room. A vague memory of her leaning her head on his back filtered through her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a desire she had had at that moment. The memory was too traumatic to recall clearly. It was a betrayal that warped her perception of him. If he had allowed her a moment to actually look at him, feel his skin, ask him questions, her opinion of him would not have changed so drastically. At least, things would have been different._ **_Maybe, if you would have asked to see him without the mask instead of accosting him he wouldn’t have reacted like that._ ** _Christine shook her head at the words of her consciousness. They were true. But, she had felt so angry, so lied to, that the one person she trusted most in the world, her respite from all its sadness, would betray her so, by using an image her father had created against her. She acted on impulse and she was wrong to do so. But, it did not mean that his threat of violence or what followed was even remotely excusable._

_He had apologized for everything, later on, during their last moments together. But, still he would not listen to her! He would not see her side of the story! Nobody had allowed her to think for herself. Raoul and Erik kept trying to project their wills onto her. But, even then, in the time she was in his home. He avoided her. Barely, spoke to her. It drove her mad! It was those few moments where Erik let his guard down that her feelings for him grew. She longed to know the man behind the mask; to see if he was more than his mistakes. Those stolen moments of laughter, and conversation, and shared opinions and stories; They made her heart soar just as much as his music did._

_She tried to not look at him or watch him, sometimes. His physical appearance called to her in a different way. But, that was not something she was going to explore at this very moment._ **_Funny_ ** _, she said to herself,_ **_I have never thought of Raoul in such a manner._ ** _She laughed aloud at the thought._

_Her amusement was interrupted by the slowing of the brougham. The driver rapped on the door announcing their arrival. The sky had darkened since she departed the estate. It was October, and the rains were beginning to descend into the city. She gave the driver extra coin and exchanged smiles as she moved towards the door. The steps up to Mr. Kahn’s apartment were hesitant and she began to doubt herself. She was a woman wandering around Paris in broad daylight without an escort who has just escaped the home of her very influential fiance to try and contact the only acquaintance of a man she barely knows herself. She huffed, frustrated with her self-doubt. It was not what she needed right now. At all. She huffed again, the door standing like a fortress before her. Forcefully, she moved her hand forward to knock._

_The soft tap of shoes headed her way startled her back to focus. It called for her to straighten her back and bring her hands forward at her waist. The Daroga had barely opened the door when she noticed how stunned he was to see her. His round eyes and heavy brow raising in surprise. Then, they furrowed. He stepped past the doorway, hurriedly looking side to side._

_“Come in, come in, quickly now.” He stepped back in and gestured her forward. Swiftly, locking the door behind her. His almost....paranoid behavior befuddled her._

_“Mlle. Daaé, What brings you here? Where is your fiancé? Have you come alone?” She stood in shock at the rapid succession of questions, too stunned to respond. As well, quietly taken aback by the sudden rush of the foreign smells and decorations of his home. She had only seen the northern world and the countries of western europe not the rich colors of the east. Nadir noticed her slight awe and calmed at her look of wonder, and what it could mean. Her heart settled a little as the tension in the room changed._

_She turned to face him more directly, “Raoul is away...til tomorrow morning. I only found out where he is and what he is doing because of the maids ....” The look on her face brooked no further inquiry. “I have come alone and I have come….” She breathed, her chest catching. “...and I have come to find out more about the man behind the mask. To know why Erik did what he did. To know Erik, his past.” She realized when he started that this man was trying very hard to keep his emotions to himself. To not react. It made her uneasy._

_“Why do you want to involve yourself with him or his past? Why would you think I would know?” His voice was measured trying to be nonchalant. His dismissal irritated her._

_“Do not think me so ignorant as to be unable to ascertain the nature of your relationship with him. Your yelling at him during those moments in his home were more than enough for me to understand that you have known Erik for a long time.” She eyed him, steely._

_“You are...quite right. I apologize, Mlle Daaé ----”_

_She raised her hand to stop him. “Christine….is fine, Monsieur Kahn.” She said, hesitantly._

_“Christine, of course. Nadir, then, for myself.” Nadir stood, gesturing awkwardly, before raising his hand up to his brow and rubbing. Christine nodded. “But...you have not answered my question. Why do you wish to know about Erik…? About his past?”_

_“Because I am in love with him.”_

_Nadir sank down into the chair behind him._

_Saying the words out loud for the first time….felt like a huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. In another way, it made her heart ache. She worried for Erik, what he was thinking, feeling. How much she wanted to feel his hands entwined with her own._ ** _Erik._** _She thought to herself._ _Tears filled her eyes, suddenly. There was still so much to fix._

_“I want to find out more about the man I love. I have been in the dark for so long. Please, all I ask is that you tell me what you know.”_

_“I cannot do that. I am afraid. The story is too much for a young woman such as yourself. At times, even I can barely handle it. Besides, it is better that you move forward from Erik. Go on with your life. Enjoy your young man.” He stood up and led her softly with a hand at her back to the door._

_Christine whipped around to face the Persian man. “Do you only play the hero when it suits you, then? When there is an audience you must prove something to? I care for Erik. So, I want to know why he did what he did so that I do not grow to hate him with my ignorance. If he and I are to part ways after this, then at least we do so knowing what truly lies in each other’s hearts. Erik is not dead and neither am I. Therefore, this will not rest till it is resolved.”_

Nadir's look of surprise at her response made him look older than the age she assumed he was. Christine could see him mulling it over, thinking in his head. She wondered if pushing would provide her the answers she wished for. She kept eye contact, her brow furrowed, and she wore her anger like a sword. 

_He gazed up at her and then immediately back down. Nadir sighed. “Let me prepare some tea for us, perhaps it will ease the story I am about to tell…”_

☾ ☾ ☾

_Tears streamed down her face. Her teacup had begun to shake a long time ago. His childhood, his willingness to please and to love, his imprisonment, the humiliation, the monster he was forced to become, a torturer, his attempts at returning from that, how he hated himself, how he tried to be better, how he saw her. So much death and violence on an innocent victim. Erik had tried but it had warped him. Her chest ached, her heart hurt, and she clutched her hands to her torso and bent over in the chair, sobbing, struggling to maintain decorum. She could not and her dark curls enfolded her in a curtain as they escaped from her coiffure._

_Nadir watched as tears flooded his eyes. He had not cried in a long time. But, seeing her empathize so much with Erik broke his heart. Erik could learn a thing or two from her._

_“I have to get to him. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him.” Christine shot up and threw her cloak around her shoulders, rushing to the door. The sun had just set._ **_Erik._ ** _She thought to herself._ **_I’m coming._ ** _Nadir grabbed her wrist, taking her hand in his and patting it gently._

_“He will not believe you. He is not the same Erik you left. He seems to have...given up.” Nadir’s eyes watered, for Erik, for Christine. He knew where this would go. He did not want to see it happen._

_“No, I will not let it. I refuse. I love him too much. We could not have gone through all this for us not to be together. If that is so, then God is not kind.” She shook her head. The sudden gadarene rush of adrenaline was making her jumpy and urgent. Nadir nodded and placed a small gold key on a chain in her hand._

_Clearing his throat, and wiping the tears from his eyes, “You know the way to his home?” Christine nodded, confidently. “Then, you will need to know how to open the locks.”_

☾ ☾ ☾

_Christine did not even blink. She was running. The Tuileries were no more than a 15 minute walk from the Opera house. But, she wasn’t walking. She went over every instruction Nadir gave her, muttering to herself as she ran. Her calves were aching. The paper with the diagrams lay heavy in her pocket. She would burn it, tear it to shreds once she was in Erik’s home. She ran, hypervigilant and in her own worries just the same. The door into the Opera was light, the tread down to the cellars made her aware of the rough patch in her boots, and the walk to his home left little room in her stays for breathing. But, coming upon the door to his home felt like a wall had been placed on her chest. She put herself flat against the door listening. It was only a faint echo of a piano that lifted the heaviness from her chest. She stared at the locks remembering Nadir’s lesson. The diagram was left undisturbed. She used what she remembered and figured the rest of it out on her own. She wasn’t sure if she had worked the locks fully til the heavy door suddenly grew lighter and swung open under the weight of her body._

_The playing was slightly louder now. Standing outside, she thought it was just the door impeding the sound. She was wrong. He was barely playing to begin with. The house was a mess, not destroyed, thankfully, just a mess. He was always so mercurial and the sight disturbed her. The couch appeared as if he’d been sleeping on it. Blankets that once resided neatly on the backs of the couches were now sweeping the carpets. Books turned over. A few tea cups on the table. Pillows on the floor. The door to her room was closed. A fine layer of dust on its handle. A chair pushed to the side. Pillows near the dying hearth. A small one that matched the covers he had bought her so long ago lay on top. The significance of its presence there sent a dull throb to spread through her palms and her chest._

_She turned towards the piano that sat past the parlor. Erik’s back was turned to her. His long lean form lay hunched slightly; His right hand playing idly while the other sat still on the edge of the keyboard. His shirt was partially untucked. His sleeves rolled up. His dark hair shining like onyx in the low light fell askew over the side of his mask. The dull throb of desire in her gut shocked her. But, the despairing way he sat at the piano tore at her soul._

**_Erik._ **

_She hadn’t realized she had said it aloud till she saw him stiffen, his body going completely still. He seemed no more than a statue at that moment. An odd sort of adonice carved into marble._

_He turned around. The sadness in his eyes bringing tears to her own. But, she couldn’t move. She felt so sure all this time but now felt hesitant, afraid to scare him._

_He chuckled low to himself. “I must be dreaming. Will the torture ever end?” He looked down, off in his own world, as he spoke._

_“Erik, no, my love. I’m here. I came back.” Her response seemed to snap him out of it._

_“Why?” His voice sounded so drained, a song with no melody._

_“I came back, Erik, so that we may be happy together, so we may fix what is broken between us, because I love you.” She smiled and tilted her head, tears cooling her eyes. For all the brokenness and all the pain. He met her eyes, looking for something she did not think he found. He turned back to the piano._

_“You left me once, Christine. I couldn’t survive you leaving again. Be happy, but, please not by torturing me.”_

☾ ☾ ☾

Christine was startled out of her flashback by the sound of Meg moving towards the kitchen, most likely for a glass of water. She stilled in her bed, not wanting her friend to know she was still awake. 

When she heard Meg’s door shut, she looked out the window again, her balcony a frame around the seine. She was now focused more on the view than on her thoughts and that was her mistake. A heaving sob escaped her throat and she clutched her pillow to her body hiding her face from the world. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as an escape while mourning my grandmother who passed away suddenly. So, if it seems like it’s being written or read by someone who is in a stalemate, or just glancing back over things. Well, I’m glad I was able to successfully emulate that. Next chapter, we get to see Erik and Christine dealing with the consequences of their actions. good and bad.


	4. The Arias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this next chapter. I hope you like it and am excited to hear your thoughts.  
> Edit 1: Line correction. "...Raoul's brother..."

Nadir watched Christine rush out of his home. He heard the click as the door shut and the tap of her boots as she bounded down the steps. He was already grabbing his coat and locking his home by the time the door chimed downstairs. He saw her run across the street, the cover of night making her hard to discern from the dancing shadows of the lamp light. She was running and she was running fast. He could not keep up with her. He tried to keep pace as far back as he could without getting spotted. It was enough. He hid behind the building across the opera and watched Christine descend into Erik’s…..lair. He scoffed at the thought. Nadir went to move forward but paused, considering the very real possibility that his presence could make things worse. He then let out a sigh. He feared that Christine may not know what she was getting herself into, Erik may not see the truth of her words. As well, he did not understand why she thought she was in love with Erik. Nadir’s thoughts rambled. Erik had his own allure aside from his face, certainly, but after his actions towards Christine, he could not fathom how she could see through it. But, who was he to intervene in the will of God? He has done what he could. Maybe, by giving Christine the truth it’ll allow her to move on and possibly, shield Erik from anymore heartbreak. A part of Nadir, the part that considered Erik like a brother, hoped that Christine and Erik would end up together. He shook his head.

He turned on his heel, hands in his pockets and strode back home. He spoke to the very God which had taken his wife and son from him, something he had not done in a long time. _May they understand each other. May they move forward from this. Insha'Allah._ The sincerity in his voice brooked no argument to any spirit listening that may question him. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine rose to the sound of breakfast being made. Her chest aching from the beautiful dream her traitorous mind had conjured up. The beautiful dream that Erik did love her, that they would see the world together. Erik and her by each other’s side. That someone saw her for her. She breathed in, trying to prevent the sob that was rising in her chest. She stopped, taking a deep breath. The air smelled like tea and sweet pastries. She tried to smile to herself, but the previous day’s adrenaline had dissipated, leaving nothing but the broken remains of her heart. She could not find the will to smile, to pretend like everything was ok. But, she would try. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring out at the little boats that ran up the river, rising to dress. 

It was late morning. A new set of clothes were laid out for her on the bench at the end of her bed. _Oh, Meg!_ Tears came to her eyes at her friend’s consideration of her. She did not realize that they had retrieved some of what was left behind at the Opera House. Christine dressed quickly, fearing the tears that would come should she allow her mind to stray. She groaned at the thought of picking her hair up, of coiling it and weaving it around til the pins hurt her head. She looked at herself in the mirror, wiping away the tear trails that had soaked into her skin through the night. She left her hair down, not caring about the judgement of others. 

Christine glanced back and forth in the hallway before striding down towards the kitchen. A plate full of pastries sat on the table between Madame Giry and Meg while a pot of tea sat whistling softly on the stove.

“Christine! You’re up! I was beginning to worry we would have trouble finding you amongst the sheets! We got some breakfast, if you’re interested.” Meg smiled, trying to cheer her friend up. At the very least, it worked to distract Christine. 

“Good Morning, Meg, Madame Giry. Thank you for breakfast. I would not mind if you had woken me up to join you this morning.” Christine sat at the table with them, smiling at Meg and taking her offered hand. 

“We considered it, my dear. But, you have been through much and you needed to rest. Have some tea and let us enjoy our morning.” 

Meg chatted away about the new ballet studio, the designs they picked, the choreography they were going over. Christine smiled at her, happy to see her friend so enthused. 

“Ah, but you neglect to tell our dear Christine of the little girl whose brother you are so fond of.” Madame Giry teased her daughter. Meg grew pink at her words. 

“Oh?” Christine smiled mischievously behind her cup of tea. Happy to be near this banter. 

“The Baroness and her husband wanted their young daughter to be more sociable, so they have brought her to our studio at the recommendation of the Vicomte. However, the little girl refused to go unless her brother took her. Thus, Meg has been entranced by the handsome young man.” Christine ignored the mention of Raoul. She grinned at Meg. A girlish smile of gossip to come. 

“Have you spoken to him, Meg?” Meg sputtered into her tea at Christine’s question. 

“Yes, I have! We have had plenty of pleasant conversations.” She stated with false bravado. 

“Oh please, why Jane Bennett and Mr. Bingley of that Austen novel you are so fond of spoke more in that entire book than either of you have and if I have to see any more of that boy’s twitterpated looks at you I do believe I will go mad.” 

Meg let out an unseemly groan and threw her head back. Christine laughed aloud. 

“Go talk to him! It does not hurt to try!” Christine insisted, happy to see the twinkle of infatuation in her friend’s eyes. 

“Easier said than done!” Meg called out, grabbing a pastry from the plate. 

The rest of the morning was spent talking and laughing over tea. They continued to talk about ballet techniques and how best to teach the young girls that came to the studio. Christine mentioned the use of silks tied at the waist to show the force needed to direct the body and position the pelvis in pirouettes. Madame Giry thought the idea had merit and jotted it down in the little book she kept in her pocket. 

They spent the remainder of the morning and the early afternoon talking and reading together. Meg had taken up sketching and Christine had offered to finish one of Antoinette’s (as she informed Christine to call her) embroidery pieces. The easy conversation and moments of silence between idle work calmed Christine. 

Christine and Meg had moved to prepare lunch when Madame Giry stopped them. The question having lain heavy on her mind throughout the morning. 

“Christine, you are free to tell me to leave well enough alone, but I feel that if I do not ask you will not allow us to help. Is there anything you wish to speak with us about? Anything you wish to discuss that will help ease your mind?”

Meg wrapped her hands around Christine’s upper arm and nodded at her friend, concern coloring her expression. Christine looked down at Meg for a moment, and felt the weight that lay on her heart intensify. She thought she had them fooled, apparently not. Christine looked down, her lip trembling and tightened her hand over Meg’s.

“Yes, there are many things. I worry that I will begin to drown in the emotions I am feeling, the emotions that I am holding back. But, I also know that I need to process these feelings on my own a little bit. Understand them so that I may understand myself a little more. A selfish part of me wants to keep these memories in my head so that they remain only mine…” Christine paused, taking a deep breath. “And, I know it is important to confide in one’s loved ones and that it is not weak to do so. But, I feel too imbalanced at the moment. But...your conversation, your company, warm tea, and normalcy are helping me deal with the sorrow in my heart more than you can imagine. When I am ready to talk about how I feel, I promise I will. I just need time.”

“Of course, my dear. It is more than understandable.” 

“We are always here when you need us.”

Christine embraced Meg in a hug, happy to feel the arms of her friend around her. She couldn’t help the few tears that spilled forth from her eyes. 

“Come, food always helps!” Meg cheerfully decreed. 

It wasn’t until lunch, or maybe an early dinner, had been served and enjoyed that a rapid knock sounded at the door. Instantly, all three women at that table knew who was behind that door. Raoul. 

They all looked at each other. Meg swiftly turned to Christine and in a low and urgent voice said “What do you wish for us to do?” Her demeanor was a reminder of how much she was her mother’s daughter. 

“Let me handle this, please. Stay in the room with me. Do not mention Erik or my visit to him! As far as we are concerned, I’ve been with you since yesterday morning.”

They nodded. Madame Giry stepped towards the door. Christine and Meg visibly inhaled. 

“Madame Giry, Christine has disappeared. Is she here? Do you know her whereabouts?” Raoul sounded frantic. A twinge of guilt flooded Christine. _Maybe I should have left Raoul a note?_ She thought to herself. 

“Monsieur, she is here and safe. See for yourself, Christine has been here since yesterday morning.” It took not a moment after she had gestured him in with an open hand that he was pushing passed her. 

“Christine!” Raoul ran towards where she stood behind the dining chair, enveloping her in his arms, crushing her towards his chest. She was stunned. At first, she expected something to stir inside her at the feel of his arms around her. But, all she felt was the arms of the boy she played with as a child, of someone whose arms once comforted her. The part of her that was trying to cope with Erik’s rejection went to imagine what it would be like for him to hold her so closely. She was pulled out of her thoughts by Raoul’s frantic grasping of her shoulders. His face was so close to hers. 

“Where have you been? You left no note. The servants were frantic. Searching all night for you. I was beside myself when I arrived and was informed you were missing. Oh! Christine! It is relieving to know you are safe!” She wondered how true that statement was. Not that she doubted Raoul’s words. She just wondered when they had discovered her gone. She shook the unnecessary and petty thoughts out of her head; refusing to let the misery of her situation make her bitter. Although, a side of her did believe that it was not until this morning, when they knew that Raoul and Philipe would be back did they go to her room. Why not just tell them that they had found her absent this morning?

“I apologize for causing concern, Raoul. But, I would not have been allowed to leave the estate without your consent.” 

“Only, while I was gone, were you not allowed to leave the house. Only to keep you safe, and we are not yet married. It is not becoming of a woman to be seen without an escort, or her husband, or another married gentlewoman. Besides, who knows if that fiend is still about, I thought he had stolen you away, again!” That, Christine did roll her eyes at. 

“Raoul, you’ve been gone enough that had he wanted to, he could have.” She saw him visibly flinch at that. 

“Besides all that, he promised he would leave us be. Why do you persist in bringing him up?” She saw Meg and her mother glance at each other. Meg tried to tuck in her smile by pulling her lips in. Her reaction caused Christine to find humor in the situation, as dark as it was. 

“I blame him, often, for your odd behavior….” The humor evaporated like water on stone in summer light. 

“You ever believe that my ‘odd behavior’ may stem from the fact that I am an individual with her own thoughts? He is nothing more than a man and yet you persist in this inane belief of some extraordinary telepathic hold he has.” She doubted her own words, but for different reasons. Being in Erik’s presence and being without it, sometimes made her feel as if they were more of the other than they realized. A bond they had that was not so easily broken. 

“Regardless, my love, It was very inconsiderate of you to make everyone worry and run out on a whim like that. We were all so worried for you. Even Philipe, had set to searching the woods and church near the house. He is home now, after I realized that you might be here.” He looked around sheepishly. Christine squinted at him. This was something she despised about Raoul. He often played the innocent boy who would rescue a scarf for a stranger, but he was just as much the young entitled Vicomte with all the privileges life had to offer. A man who feared societies’ opinion. 

“Enough, of all that…,” He spoke serenely, as if he had woken from a nap. “It does not matter. I am home now, there is no need to leave the house to gain my attention. You always have it, my little lotte.” He patted her hand as he spoke. She somehow felt his use of her nickname was meant to make her feel small, to pull her under his thrall. 

“I did not leave to get your attention, Raoul!” Christine raised her voice, pulling her hand away. Her usual frustration with Raoul mounting.

He sighed, and turned to Antoinette and her daughter, “Please, excuse us, so that we may speak privately.” 

Instantly, they both looked toward Christine. “No, Raoul, this is their home.” Christine felt twisted, she did not know what to say, or how she wanted this conversation to go. She just wanted this over, so she could start...moving on with her life. 

“Then, let us return to OUR home, so that we may discuss your behavior. It is frightening, Christine, to see that you are acting so irrational.” At that, Christine had had it. 

“Raoul, leaving your estate, and not wanting to be there does not make me irrational. I wanted to leave the estate because I could not bear to be alone anymore.” _Among other reasons,_ Christine thought to herself.

“You were never alone. The servants were there. My family has visitors often. I was there and Philipe. Yes, I do admit, I have been absent often. But, my dear, it was only because I was gathering things for our wedding. I know how tired you have been and did not want to bother you.” 

“You assumed I was tired. You have kept me in the dark and refused to speak to me about matters of importance. Treating me like an infant. And our wedding? You were gathering things for our wedding with your brother? What? Are you trying to woo me or are you using me to woo your brother?” Raoul had forgotten about the Giry women behind him. But, Christine had not. She saw their backs visibly straighten at her last remark. “...I wanted to be around my loved ones, my friends, people who wanted to talk to me, and not just to impress you!” Christine was spewing what immediately came to mind, not trying to rationalize or organize her thoughts; just verbalizing her inner turmoil. In truth, her broken heart, her tired soul, and her frustration with everything was making her lash out harsher than she intended. She wanted to very calmly tell Raoul her feelings so that their friendship may remain intact. 

“I do not like your implication about my brother and I, Christine. You should not make such remarks! My future wife will not speak that way! And I have done right by you, Christine. I have saved you from that wretched man, brought you into my home, and all you have done is act selfishly. Everybody has treated you with kindness. I have no idea as to why you wish to not be in my home, where you have everything you could ever want or need. If you do not cease this childish behavior this instant, I will----.” Raoul was trying to act haughty and esteemed but she could see that she was getting under his skin. 

“You will what? You have ignored me. Treaded all over me. Threatened me. Let your brother posture in front of me to show how different our classes are. You say that you want to protect me and be by my side, but the only person whose side you are standing on is your brother. You talk about my dependency issues as if you were some Saint. Future wife or not, you do not have any right to scold me!” Christine cringed, remembering all the times Raoul's brother, Philipe, would speak over her at gatherings whenever someone tried to initiate a conversation with her, constantly reminding everyone that she was a former opera singer and member of the ballet. _He made sure not to call us rats when wealthy businessmen were around,_ she thought. 

Raoul went to speak, but Christine interrupted....” You told me that I could not sing! I could not be seen around Madame Giry! Or Meg! Or anyone from the Opera! Because it would make YOUR family look bad! That I could not wander alone! That I had to be always by your side or with another gentle-woman! I would have no privacy. No right to be alone or by myself. These people were my life for so long. You saved me from that wretched man? It wasn't just Erik’s fault that night! You were partly to blame for that situation ------”

Raoul had turned red by this point. His face pinched acutely in vexation. “So now this monster has a name! Erik, is it?!” 

“Oh please, Raoul, cease with the dramatics. You heard his name that night!” Christine threw her arms down, fighting the coil of anxiety in her.

“Besides, he is not a monster! I had told you to leave well enough alone. To let me talk to him and you refused, ignored me, called me asinine and assumed I was--I was!” Christine felt so angry, so hurt. She loved Raoul! Wanted him in her life! But, as a friend! She just wanted a friend! Someone she could talk to! Who understood her! Did not begrudge her! Oh, Meg loved her, she knew! But, even Meg would struggle to keep up with Christine’s machinations! She wanted Erik! She remembered staunchly how Raoul had assumed she was behaving in a manner unseemly for even the common beggar, alluding her doings to the behavior of slattern all because she was in a carriage with Erik. Christine continued, “He overreacted, you overreacted, and neither of you let me do anything on my own! I am not without blame, myself! I should not have hidden, I should not have turned my face away, I should not have let it try to resolve itself.” 

“He tortured myself and that Persian man! You speak as if our actions were set at equal severities!”

“I have not said so, Raoul! His actions have always been inexcusable. But, that does not mean that your behavior was not also hurtful or negatively impactful.” Christine wanted to defend Erik. But, Raoul was right. Erik’s actions were inexcusable, but seeing how much hope she once inspired in him, to then for it to be taken away after a life like he has lived….Christine believed it would drive any man to the brink of insanity. She knew though….she knew that if she defended Erik now that that would cause Raoul to act drastically. She also did not want to betray the trust of Nadir or Erik by accidentally letting out that she knew more than she let on. As well, Raoul and his family had money and power. He had bought this studio for Madame Giry and Meg and she was sure that if Raoul were to become too upset that something would happen to their occupation here. Christine made a mental note to ask about the legalities of said ownership. For now, she needed to rein in Raoul. 

“Raoul, please, I do not want to fight with you.” She felt so sorry for the mess this all had become. She longed for something else than her current reality. Her eyes glittered like a fountain under the lights of a pyre. Tears of exhaustion, exhaustion from this whole situation, of being torn in so many different ways, of trying to build a life and move forward when all she wanted to do was mourn the loss of a love she never really had to begin with. Raoul visibly relaxed at the sight of her tears. His heart aching, longing to comfort her and hating how much like his brother he sounded. 

“I am and was worried about you, Christine. You have grown so distant. I did not know what to do to reach you! I know I asked a lot from you, to deny you your friends from the Opera. But, I felt so pressured by my family. I thought that providing them with a comfortable living would make you feel better. It was wrong, but I thought! I- I tried, I thought the wedding would make you happy…” Christine shook her head and stepped forward. If Erik’s behavior was understandable, so was Raoul's. Both were inexcusable. But, this could not go on. _Now or never,_ she thought to herself. She took his large wide hands in hers. 

“You do make me happy, most of the time, but, not....not when you are trying to force affection from me.” Christine breathed, steeling herself for words she could not take back. But, words she could not move forward without. “...I am not ready to marry you, Raoul. Nor do I wish to live as a Vicomtesse; without music, without freedom. I love you, Raoul, but not in the way you wish me to. I am sorry.” Raoul’s breath visibly stopped. His body going rigid. His pupils shrinking. 

“Without music? Without freedom?!....” He began to inhale rapidly, his face turning red. Christine braced herself as Raoul stepped away from her and stopped rubbing her hand with his thumb. “Your head is too much in the clouds, Christine! I am not some angel of music. I am your fiancé!”

“You’re right, you’re not! Not my fiancé, nor my angel of music.” Everybody in the room stopped. Christine gathered herself, closing her eyes and bringing her fist to her chest, thinking of her father’s voice to calm her. She raised her head up and glared at Raoul. She went to speak but Raoul’s soft sob brought her head up to meet his eyes. With tears in his eyes, he stepped away from her. 

“I’m sure you are still stressed from the events below the Opera, your change of status and are just fatigued from the entire situation. I know I am. But, we are not done, Christine.” He calms. “But, if you need time, on your own, away from everything, I understand. Just please, allow me to see you, soon.” The change of edge in Raoul’s voice reminded her of the boy she once knew. She almost dissolved back into his arms, more out of a need to be touched and make herself feel better about causing pain than anything else. But, she remembered that a change of voice was not a change in character.

“I don’t know, Raoul.” Christine remained steadfast. Her right hand balled into a fist at her side as she turned away from him. Raoul looked at her sadly, tears edging into his eyes and closed the door behind him. 

Meg and Madame Giry immediately came to her side. Antoinette pulled her to her chest and combed her fingers through her dark curls. Meg pressed up against her back, softly rubbing her shoulders. They were proud of her, to say the least. 

After several minutes of letting silent tears fall, Christine sniffed. “I think- I think I’m ready to tell you both what really happened that night. The night that I returned to _him_ , and before.” She wiped her eyes. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine left out the story of Erik’s life. But, she did say that she understood more what drove him to such drastic measures after speaking to the Persian man. She was surprised to know that when Erik’s presence had become more prominent at the Opera, he had begun to show up. Apparently, Nadir and Madame Giry had spoken often, on a first name basis even!

She slams her cane on to the floor. “That bastard is lying! He most likely denied his feelings because he sees himself as too much of a burden, guilt, possibly! The over dramatic beanpole that he is!” Madame Giry was exasperated. 

Christine didn’t know if she wanted to consider that. But, only because it would mean that once again he was making a choice for her. Meg put her arm on Christine’s wrist, guiding her attention toward her. 

Meg was lost in her own thoughts. She couldn’t imagine what Christine might be feeling; to pour your heart out for someone and risk it in such a manner to only be rejected. Her palms hurt just trying to empathize with her friend. She wanted to understand, though, to know what was going on within the folds of Christine’s mind and heart, so that she may help. 

Madame Giry sighed. The sun had set not too long ago. She saw the weariness in Christine’s bones, in her eyes. 

“I think I am going to bed. I feel….” Christine looked down, forlorn. Antoinette patted her hands. 

“It is alright. Get to bed, my dear. We will clean up the little that is left. Do not fret. Tomorrow is a new day.” Christine was too tired of heart, mind, and body to argue. She smiled weakly at the two women. Meg’s hesitant move toward her made her heart break. She wanted to talk, to get it all out, to rant, but it wouldn’t fill the gaping hole in her heart that Erik did not love her. So she turned on her heel, and escaped to her bedroom, throwing herself on the bed.

Meg watched her enter her room and decided that Christine was not going to bed without speaking to her. She didn't think it was right for her heartbroken friend to be alone at the moment. 

Her mother gave her a knowing nod and gestured her head towards the tea and left over cakes on the counter. A hint. Meg smiled and began to warm the tea and treats. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine lay in bed. An hour had passed since she left the front room. Yet, she did not feel the pull of morpheus. She was too tired to sleep. Her body and heart and mind wrung out and limp. 

It was a welcome surprise to see the moonlight glint over Meg’s blue eyes and blonde hair, making the tea tray in her hands sparkle. Christine sat up, still holding onto the pillow she had been wrapped around. Her feet peeking out from underneath it. 

“I had a feeling you might still be awake. I thought this might make you feel better, made sure you knew you were not alone.” Christine laughed weakly at Meg’s offering. She was glad Meg was here. 

“Thank you.” Meg hopped on the bed, trying to decide what to say. She had a feeling that trying to distract her would only make Christine feel worse. She followed her instinct. 

“Tell me what he is like. Outside of his mad tendencies.” Meg quipped, her head tilting toward Christine. 

Christine smiled around the warm tea cup in her hand. She had left out the more intimate details of their kiss and her reactions to him out of respect for Madame Giry who was very much like a mother figure to her, or maybe a scary Aunt. She had no qualms about telling Meg, though. It made her feel less like a girl in the clouds and more like a woman who believed in love and happiness. 

She told Meg of their time together beneath the Opera House. How she loved the way he looked at her. How, when his defenses were down, he would speak with such conviction and passion that it would make her stomach flutter. How much of a wonderful storyteller he was. How attentive he was to her preferences and opinions. How graceful he was. How his voice, his eyes called to her like nothing else. She loved the feel of his skin, of his hands in hers. 

“It is hard to believe he is like this when, what you’ve told us of his other behavior sounds very much like a man absorbed only with himself and his own thoughts and feelings.”

“Erik is self-absorbed, but, not for the reasons you think.” Meg did not push, understanding that she was trying to respect the man she was very much still in love with. _She is a better person than I am,_ Meg thought. Christine continued, “When he is calm, he is so gentle and kind and loving. The dichotomy between his visceral tendencies still astonishes me. But, I understand it. He changed after the events beneath the Opera. He was no longer the crazed man, but someone else. Someone who seemed so very lost. At my arrival, I thought that it was because he was without me. It made sense...because I felt lost without him, like something was missing. I guess...that was not the case.” Christine’s lip trembled and she clenched her hands. 

Meg softly held the side of Christine’s face. They were lying on their sides in the middle of the bed, holding hands, as Meg pushed the hair that had fallen over her friend’s cheek. Her mother had spoken to her about what she knew of the Phantom of the Opera and of Christine after they had been dismissed from their jobs there. His words to Christine, when she returned to him, and his actions did not make sense to Meg. She worried if her mother was right. If this self-absorbed man thought himself so much a burden that he would lie to try and save Christine from his presence. It made little sense to her. She recalled Raoul’s passing remark about the hideously ugly man that had kidnapped Christine. But, Christine spoke deeply about how watching him ignited something in her she never felt before. 

Meg offered to brush Christine’s hair while they continued speaking and she delightfully accepted. As she brushed her hair, she continued asking her friend about her feelings for the Opera Ghost. Christine described many things. But, what stuck with Meg was how Christine felt about them bonding over music together; learning, singing, writing...together. Often, they would do so just to enjoy it. Enjoy each other’s voice and presence. How they inspired each other to creativity. 

“His voice didn’t call to me because it was beautiful, but because it was his.” Christine sighed, mapping the lines on the palm of her hands with her fingers as if looking for something. A nagging feeling edged in under Meg’s ribs. She wondered, now, if the connection between Erik and Christine was deeper than they realized. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Nadir could not open the locks to Erik’s house. _The bastard has changed the damn locks!_ Nadir exclaimed to himself, jiggling the handle in exasperation. He decided to use the old fashioned way of getting Erik’s attention. He began banging on the door, shouting at Erik in farsi. It had been more than a day since Christine had arrived at his home. Nadir worried for a moment when he heard nothing. Where was Erik? Christine? Til he heard the sudden rap of Erik’s heels on the floor. The door flung open. 

His mouth could have caught flies at the sight of Erik. He wore no mask. His hair was askew. His shirt untucked. His trousers loose. 

“What is it that you are in need of, Good Daroga? Can I not be left in peace?” Erik raised an eyebrow at him, or at least raised that region of muscle and skin. Nadir gulped. Erik’s appearance of disassociation unnerved him. 

“Where is Christine?” He decided to get right to the point. The sardonic look of irritation that had colored Erik’s visage fell away, revealing the true emotion hidden within Erik’s heart. Despair.

“She’s gone. Safe. Away from me.” Erik turned away and headed back into his home. Nadir followed, closing the door behind him, hearing the mechanical locks click back in place. Erik’s tall imposing figure was gone, now replaced with the figure of a man whose shoulders drooped, and feet dragged along the carpet. Erik had given up. 

“Why? She came back to you. She--what did she say to you, Erik?” He wondered what wreckage Erik had created. 

“She told me what every man longs to hear from the woman he loves, the woman he desires…” Erik sat at the piano. Nadir noticed, gravely, the faint stain of blood on the ivory keys and Erik’s bandaged fingers. How hard? How long...had Erik been playing the damned instrument? Erik continued. “But, I love her too much. I could never be what she needs me to be. I let her go.”

Nadir sighed and shook his head. This is what he feared. 

“I see that you were aware of her presence here. How did you come by such information?” Erik sat at the piano, idly playing a few keys. Nadir knew this was Erik attempting to seem disinterested. 

“She arrived at my door stop yesterday and she expressed her desire to return to you---” Nadir’s train of thought verged, the impact of the fact that Erik had let her go when she WILLINGLY returned hitting him in the chest, “---W-Why, did you let her go? Did she not tell you how she felt about you?” 

“She did in great detail, but like I said before, it only reaffirmed that I could never be what she deserved. I am a creature whose only place is in the mud, beneath the earth. She is a young woman who deserves flowers, and summer strolls, and taken out to cafes and museums and spectacles of great fascination. I am not a Don Juan, or some fop with gold hair and a mustache to match...” Erik sighed, calming again, “...I can never give her that. Besides, even with all that she said, I could hardly believe it even with how convincing she was. She was most likely returning out of some sense of obligation, to tie up loose ends, that way she could leave me to rest in peace.” 

Nadir gave a curse in farsi, kneeling in front of Erik, leaning on one knee. “She did not wish to leave you, you great fool, she wanted to be able to reach you. In here!” He gestured to Erik’s head. 

“You can be better than Don Juan. You can be better than this idea of what a man should be that you’ve conjured up in your head.” Nadir gestured with his hands, pulling it away from his face to get Erik to look into his eyes as he spoke. He wanted to relieve the anxious tension in Erik, make him realize that he was wrong in letting her go. “Obviously, she is more of a Don Juan than you or I are, Erik, because she was able to open that door where I was not. And I know the combination to open it! She was only told once!” 

Erik’s eyes focused on that. His gaze turning steely, fixating on his friend before him. 

“You couldn’t have. She couldn’t have. I changed the combination the night after the incident in fear of a mob coming down here.” 

Nadir breathed in slowly, going over Erik’s words. His eyes met the Persian’s as it dawned on both of them. 

Nadir voiced it first, “That means she figured out how to open them on her own.” At that, both men exhaled. _She was determined to reach me,_ Erik thought. Shock coiling up his spine and compressing his lungs. 

Apparently, that was enough, to knock something back into Erik. Nadir noticed Erik’s change in demeanor.

“What do I do now, good Daroga? How do I become the Prince that rescues his love?” Erik’s hands tightened over his trousers. 

Nadir sighed and shook his head, rising, patting Erik on the shoulder. “You are hopeless, Erik. You need to stop thinking you need to become someone else in order to ‘rescue’ her. It was she who returned to you. Who, if we are to speak in your metaphors of fairytale, escaped her tower to come and save YOU. Maybe, you should take a page from her book, instead of anyone else’s.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this direction brightens your day, especially with all that's going on. Good Luck out there.


	5. Duetto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my social distancing writing extravaganza. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Edit 1: Grammatical and Flow errors corrected.

Nadir let out a shallow breath as he saw Erik’s eyes dim, his mind wandering. Nadir always believed Erik thought too much. He knew that this was just a consequence of having to be several steps ahead in order to survive. _But, Erik deserved more than that, he deserves to live...to thrive, to maybe find some peace for himself,_ Nadir contemplated silently. _It would surely give me some damn peace of mind._ He added amusingly. 

Erik stood up slowly, his first time doing so since making his decision to return to Christine. The importance of his choice left him to feel slightly nauseous, his insecurities, his doubts getting to him. 

“Come, brother, your home is quite the mess. It is not fit for a _Prince_ to live in a sty.” Nadir mocked Erik’s last choice of words. His manner of speaking was incredibly romantic and fantastical, far too sweet for Nadir’s tastes, like someone had poured syrup down his throat. But, having heard of Christine’s inclination towards whimsy from Madame Giry he found it interesting that these two had found something in each other. 

Nadir was glad his quip worked to get Erik moving. Unfortunately, it was not enough to pull him completely from within his head. Nadir worried for a moment but decided to let it be. Maybe, it was a good thing if Erik considered his thoughts with someone nearby. In case, it became too much. The older Persian man set about the house, cleaning and dusting and wiping furniture down to clear away the last few weeks of pain and dismay. 

_She loves me. She wants me...I hope she still does. I hope I can be enough. Can I even accomplish this?_ Erik’s thoughts echoed in his head like a ringing bell, bouncing off other emotions til instinct coiled low in his belly. A sea of memories, a drop of wine amidst an ocean of blood, the images of Christine’s kiss, her embrace, fluttered across his spirit. He remembered how it felt to feel her pour her soul into him, to tattoo her love on his skin, on his lips, his wretched face. Erik remembered the distinct feeling after she left, her fingers across the bare skin of his throat, the torture that seared his soul and left him raw and open. How she changed him, affected him, made him want to be better.

This was all his fault. Everything. **He** lost Christine, he **himself** drove her away. The boy was nothing but...Erik casts his head downwards and shakes it. Raoul was there to comfort her, she wasn't running to him, _she was running away from me._ There was a difference there. A difference in that line of thought that Erik had never considered. _If she can return to me, I can return to her. Even if she abhors me, I deserve it for all that I’ve done to her. All that I’ve done to everyone._

 _Everyone. Nadir, the great booby, almost died trying to save me from myself, trying to save Christine._ The humor laced in his inner voice was an attempt to distract himself from what he did to Nadir. A failed attempt. He had put his friend, the only person to stay by his side, encouraged him to be better, in a torture chamber, with the intent to kill. Erik’s hatred toward himself spiked at that moment. The image of carrying the body of his friend from the chambers worming itself into his heart, warning him of how much of a horrid monster he could be. 

Erik forcefully cleaned the surface of the writing desk, wringing out the towel as he wrung out his thoughts. The memories of his descent into madness, an almost manic sadness, were hazy. As if it were all just a nightmare. He remembers, thought, his first night alone after the events of the scorpion and the grasshopper, his first moment of clarity as he crawled out of the madness. He remembers screaming, crying, lying on the ground doing nothing, waiting for nothing. He just wanted Christine, by his side, because she wanted to be there. _And you sent her away again when she did!_ Erik scolded himself. 

He still couldn’t shake the memory of Christine’s wraith-like face as she heard the shouts of the Daroga and the Vicomte, how that beautiful face had turned to him and worsened; losing hope at the sight of him. _I wonder what Christine was thinking, that night, as she saw her Angel of Music acting like nothing more than a depraved beast._ Erik knew he had lost when the scorpion spun loudly on that night. He never had Christine to begin with.

However, Erik now realized that he did not even feel like himself on that night, or those before. The last thing he clearly remembered was the image of Christine and Raoul cuddling on the rooftop. The facade, the carapace of a calm collected man he had struggled to build his entire life, an obelisk of control was shattered at the sight of the woman he loved curled around another. Erik could still hear the echo of their declarations, they still clung to him like mud. _How could she have left a man such as he, who has everything, for me?_ Erik could not deny her feelings, logically, as she did come back to him. But, his hatred of himself, now solely due to the nature of his actions against her, clouded his judgement and his instincts. _Do I dare show my horrid face to her again? Taint her space, her calm, by returning to her? What will I lose if I do not? What if the Vicomte is there? What if I cannot control myself, again?_

His wonderful Christine, she who empathized with everyone she could. But, had the strength, the will, to refuse to martyr herself. Erik wondered for a moment if she had chosen the scorpion not only to save her fiance, but try to save him as well. She even tried to use The Daroga, his friend, to make him see reason. What if she had hoped that there was still something there of his former self to rescue? 

Erik leaned his back against the frame of a door, tilting his head up, cringing at the thought of that boy knowing of his insecurities, his weaknesses, how pathetic he was that he had to threaten to kill the man she loved in order to try and have her. _Did she even love the Vicomte, still?_ Erik forced himself to think about Raoul. He knew now that Raoul had done nothing but try and comfort Christine from the things that terrified her. His comforting of Christine was not a personal attack on Erik. In fact, he did not even believe Christine’s notions of the Angel of Music or a Phantom till much later. He was ashamed to say that he had spied on them far too often. Nonetheless, he did wonder if Raoul only empathized with her for his own selfish reasons, to try and get her to love him. _Was that not lying to her, as well? Had I not done the same to her?_ Erik realized now that he did not hate Raoul for any good reason other than he had everything Erik could never have. He hated him because he was loved by Christine. He did, however, dislike the way he treated Christine when she showed the slightest hint of not bowing to his will, how he would sometimes mock her whimsy. He scoffed. He had done no different. At least, Erik could say he never mocked her for taking comfort in fairy tales or stories of the north. Why should he... when he so often let himself be absorbed by music, by stories just to escape his own loneliness?

☽ ☽ ☽

Nadir realized a few hours into their cleaning that Erik hadn’t moved to replace his mask. His sleeves were still rolled up, and his shirt untucked. His meticulousness about his person was gone, his obsessive control over his appearance and the almost constant need for formal attire...had vanished. It did not coil in his presence. Erik’s arms, his shoulders were relaxed, even if his facial expressions and eyes gave notice to an inner turmoil within him. Something about Erik was changing...Nadir noted this to himself and gave a firm nod, resolute in his growing hope for his friend.

Erik and Nadir milled around the house together silently til lunch time when Erik began to cook Nadir something. He felt his stomach tighten at the thought of food, realizing that he was actually hungry. He never truly fed himself with regularity, ignoring it as long as he could. 

Nadir came in when he recognized the smell of garlic and heady spices. Erik was cooking. It shocked him. Erik had not cooked for him since Reza had gotten sick. He had used it to try to cheer the boy up. A lightness took hold of his feet and he rushed to the kitchen. 

Peeking in he saw Erik taking care of what appeared to be lunch, long grain rice finished on the stove, a bird of persian spices cooling on a rack above a pot of persian curry. Erik’s visage was stern but the lines of his face had softened, his eyes no longer looked so deep set and his lips weren't tightly pressed together. It was these subtle changes in Erik that made hope bloom in the heart of his friend.

“What is all this, habibi?” Erik turned to Nadir before looking back at the counter, guilt rising in his chest at the sight of his smiling friend, at the affectionate term of endearment. He fisted the towel in his hands, letting out a shaky breath before turning to meet Nadir’s eyes. The sorrow in them, the tears on his eyelashes, quelled the excitement in him. 

“I cannot begin to apologize or make excuses for my behavior towards you that night, that night with the Vicomte. I do not deserve to have you regard me with such a name or with your smile. I cannot begin to...and with all you continue to do for me. I--” Erik’s voice choked on tears. “...But, I apologize for everything. Everything. For your son. For everything afterwards. My behavior that night. I do not deserve your friendship or your presence.. I am a monster. I do not deserve it.”

“I forgave you the moment I realized how far gone you were. Loneliness does things to a man. I do not blame you for your state of mind---”

“No, I allowed myself to get to that point. I did not care for anyone but myself. My own thoughts. My own feelings. I was too absorbed in my own self-pity to see, truly see. I was driven mad by my own wallowing and anger and hatred for the world. I wanted to inflict pain on those who had the things I could never have. Including Christine, I wanted the boy to suffer because I knew he had her. I ended up hurting Christine, too. I will never understand why you choose to remain in my company or concern yourself over me. But, I know that if it were not for you, I would have taken my own life long ago. ”

Erik’s tearful monologue tore at Nadir’s heart and he quickly took Erik into an embrace, overwrought with emotion. 

All the memories of Erik caring for Reza, helping him mourn his wife, burying his son, nursing him back to life after their deaths, helping him with his position as Daroga, escaping Persia...Erik was a better man than he thought. But, he had been taught to see himself as nothing more than a monster, an animal, who only knew the touch of violence to survive. All because of his face, something that was no fault of his own. His actions were atrocious but if the people who had tortured Erik had never done so, the violence at Erik’s hands would never have occured. 

“You have done more for me than I can ever return. You have done right by others when you did not have to, as well. That is how I know you are capable of great things. Better than what you think you are capable of. You need to stop listening to the voices they have put in your head. ” He patted the taller man’s back and felt Erik return the hug awkwardly before fully embracing him, patting Nadir on the back in return. The warmth of Erik’s tears on his shoulder made him pray once again, that everything would work out for the better for Erik. For Christine. He still could not shake the face of sorrow and empathy she held for Erik as he revealed the story of his past.

Nadir pulled away first, not wanting to overwhelm his friend. Hesitantly, he moved forward to gently cup Erik’s face with both his hands. 

“Come, habibi. Let us enjoy your cooking and not let it go to waste.” Erik nodded, slightly surprised, and shot Nadir a weak smile as they began to set the table.

☽ ☽ ☽

It wasn’t until after lunch, after they had cleaned up and stored the remaining food in Erik’s clever ice bin that he noticed the shake in Erik’s hands. Lunch had been pleasant, quiet but pleasant. Nadir knew that the easy banter and conversation would be swift to return after more important matters were settled and he was less anxious. But, the shaking worried him. 

In order to try and do something to calm his friend, Nadir recommended they read by the fire for a while. He hoped that if he bided his time that Erik would open up and speak to him about what was concerning him. He did not have to wait long, as they stepped out of the kitchen and into the parlour he heard Erik take a deep wheezing breath. 

“What do I do, Nadir? I don’t know what to do.” Erik shook his head violently, bracing himself against the highback chair before his legs gave out, landing on his knees, his hands around his head. “I can’t do this, Daroga, I can’t.” Nadir was glad he stayed. “ She will never accept me. I am a monster, my face, all I have done. Before, with lying to her! Torturing her suitor, her childhood friend. After, rejecting, callously lying to her.” Nadir realized now that all he knew was that Erik had sent her away. He did not know what he said to her. 

“Come, Erik. She already forgave you. She came back. Just return to her. Act upon her feelings for you, and yours for her."

“I TOLD HER I DIDN'T LOVE HER! I TOLD HER I DID NOT WANT HER! WHAT IF SHE HAS RETURNED TO HER BOY? MARRIED HIM? WHAT WILL I DO? I WILL HAVE LOST HER!” 

“What happened that night, Erik? In detail, man! Speak!” He shook Erik, and Erik spoke. His normally languid and melodic voice warped into crackling panic. 

Nadir’s eyes widened in fear at Erik’s retelling of that night. It is one thing to have sent Christine away. It was another matter altogether to have told her he did not love her, to deny her outright. This may make matters all the more complicated. He now had to convince HER he loved her. Truly loved her. He bent down next to Erik, trying to pull him away from this panic attack. He had no other name for it. Erik was panicking, breathing heavily. “Breathe, Erik, breathe. Deep breaths.” 

“Listen, my friend, listen to me. We have been through much together, too much for two people to ever go through. And, through all we have been through I have never once seen you change your outlook on the world. I have never once seen you have the will to be brave, to face the world, the desire to. You have the bravery to imagine what it could be. But, you need the gumption to act on it! And swiftly! You must try! Or you will never know! 

He heard Erik settle slightly. He decided to push his luck. Normalcy, a semblance of control, at the least, could arouse Erik into action and away from his melancholy. 

“My friend, it might be best to start with a bath, your best clothes, making yourself presentable, and then go to Christine!”

Erik had one hand on the floor, his arm straight as to brace himself. The other ran anxiously through his hair. He still did not meet Nadir’s eyes. His palms ached, agony and heartbreak all too familiar sensations to him. 

“I don't even know where she is, Nadir. I do not.”

Nadir looked up, staring into nothing, thinking for a moment. Where would Christine be? Would she have returned to the home of the Vicomte? A flash of memory of Christine in his home after he told her the story of Erik’s life: her haunted eyes, her wails, her manic stress and her rush to get to Erik made him believe that she had not returned to him. The fact that she came alone to his house, most likely through some cunning effort of her own, he imagines, made him wonder. _By Allah, the wills of these two are far too much alike._ There was no way she would return to the young man, she seemed too determined... However, to be rejected was another factor to contend with. Nadir was unsure. Her life would be uncertain and precarious if she did not marry the Vicomte with her having no parents or guardian to support her. Unless….Madame Giry knew an awful lot about the girl, treated her differently, too, from what he saw...

He looked down at Erik and spoke in a rushed tone. “If her behavior that night in my home, her forcefulness, and her words to you were any indication...I highly doubt she had any intention of returning to the home of the Vicomte. She came alone that night!”

Erik gave no indication he had heard Nadir. But, he waited patiently for an answer. 

“Madame Giry.” A single name on a breath was his response, supporting Nadir’s suspicion.

Nadir smiles, smacking Erik’s back a little.

“There we go! Now, get moving. The sun will set in a few hours!” Erik stood up, nodding at his friend before swiftly moving towards his chambers. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine slept in till noon. The fierce discourse with Raoul had wound her up tighter than a bow and the conversation with Meg had turned her heart and body into liquid clay; revealing longings in her that she had only just begun to explore. It had exhausted her. If she were more honest, it was more so that she no longer had the fight in her to deny that this was her life. She had taken so much time, so much so that weeks had bled into months, for her to realize why she felt so bereft following the events below the Opera. Those understandings made her feel confident that returning to Erik was the only way she could have her music and love in her life. But, now, having been rejected, denied, she could not help the ache in her soul. She did not begrudge Erik. If he did not love her, he did not love her. She just hoped he would be happy, that he would find someone to keep him company, to accept him, someone he did love. 

She traced the patterns in the bed sheets trying to remember what Erik’s skin felt like, what his lips tasted like, how his arms felt around her. Brief rivulets of memories floated across her fingertips and she danced with them, committing them to memory as best she could, knowing that it would be all she would have to last her a lifetime.

She was sure a life teaching ballet, maybe trying to perform again solo, or watching Meg marry and grow would not be bad. That she could be happy. But, it would have been nice to have someone to share it with. To have Erik with her. She knew that this pain would turn to memory, much like the wound of her father’s death. But, wounds leave scars and she would always love him, always miss him. She hoped, too, that Raoul would forgive her, that they could go on as companions that shared tea once a week. She knew that it was unlikely, though. She hoped he did not feel as keenly the sting of her rejection as she did Erik’s. 

The clink of silver against porcelain brought her out of her reverie. She rose, rubbing the ache of heartbreak from her palms. She dressed quickly before joining them.

The clink she had thought was a teacup being stirred was actually the clink of a letter opener against the rivetsof the oak table in Madame Giry’s living room. Antoinette looked dastardly as she gazed upon the parchment in her hand. Meg stood behind her and Christine joined her, reading over the woman’s shoulder. 

Christine beamed at them as Meg gave an excited cry. According to the letter, a prominent and wealthy ballet master had invited ‘The Illustrious Madame Giry’ and her daughter to an event at his home where he was to showcase the most formidable ballet masters of the city to wealthy families and businessmen who wished to invest in the arts. 

“Mamá, are we to go? The event is tonight!” Meg appeared quite shocked, nervously-excited as Antoinette appeared regal and focused. 

“Hmph, it is very much like Jean-Luc to send an invite the morning of an event when the gathering is to be held that same evening, and an event of such importance, no less!” 

“You know this man?” Christine inquired stepping beside the sitting woman. 

“Yes, I tutored under him in my youth. He was one of the references I used to secure my position at the Opera House after Meg and I were on our own.” 

“So, Mamá, are we to go?!” Meg asked urgently, looking between Christine and her mother in excitement. 

The older woman turned to her daughter. “Are you up for it, my girl? You will have to perform, seeing as I cannot. You will be representing not only yourself, but the studio and your mother, as well.” Madame Giry wagged her finger in front of her. 

Christine was nervous. Meg was a phenomenal dancer, but had moments of stage fright if she felt too isolated, too focused on by the crowds. 

Meg straightened. “I am more than prepared!” 

Antoinette turned back to the letter and flipped to the second sheet where a list of names gathered. She smiled at the paper, mischievously, a creeping laughter escaping her.

“It appears you need to be, my dear, as the young Baron’s son whom you are so fond of is to be in attendance as well as the rest of his family. Including his younger sister, who looks up to you so much!” 

Meg blanched slightly at that. Christine winced. She would not only have to do her best to uphold her Mother’s reputation and her future, but to inspire a young girl, and impress a potential love interest. Christine smiled nervously at Meg. 

“He is of no importance! That little girl will never come out of her shell if I do not inspire her and I will not marr our reputation! I am determined.” She smiled at her daughter’s declaration. 

“Good, then. Go prepare!” She shushed her daughter in eager excitement. A gallant smile crossed her face as she gazed at the two young women before her. 

“Wait, what about Christine? She is a teacher now too and a wonderful ballet dancer!” Meg and Antoinette turned to her. She saw the older woman move to speak but she brought her hand up. 

“If I had been here longer and had been preparing and practicing I would not be hesitant to assist Meg in representing us there. However, I have not practiced or done my complete exercises in almost 3 months. I am not ready to perform on a stage of such significance. ” Christine was disappointed she would miss such a lively gathering of performers, but did not want to risk ruining anything. She did not completely forego her vocal or ballet exercises during her stay at the DeChangy estate. But, could not practice them as freely as she wished. She had felt far too stifled and she was: physically and emotionally. 

“I do not feel right leaving you behind, my dear.” Madame Giry took her hand.

“Yes, we can always say you are attending as a new teacher even if you cannot dance!” Meg insisted. 

“I will be alright! I assure you! I would feel out of place as I haven’t even begun to teach. You must go! Some time on my own will do me well.” They both scoffed in tandem at that. Mother and daughter giving the same slight shrug of their shoulders at her last admission. 

“Alright, but do rest! The keys are here. We will be back early tomorrow morning or late this evening. And, I will not hear of having a tired ballet mistress in my studio. You will rest this week.” 

“Actually…” Christine nodded to herself. I believe I am going to go downstairs and practice a little. Get myself moving, again, so to speak. Begin slowly, of course! Practice my singing and dancing. The studio is closed today, no?” Christine was rambling, slightly giddy at the prospect of familiar movements. 

Mother and daughter shared a gleeful conspiratorial look at each other. 

“I have your ballet materials in a trunk in my closet. I rescued them the night we left. Those keys open a secret staircase that leads directly to the studio. You do not even have to go outside! It is at the end of the hall. Make sure to lock it on both ends when you come back up!” Meg gestured excitedly towards a small bronze key in her hand.

Christine smiled, thanking her friend. She made them tea as they gathered their things, all sharing lunch together before the two women departed. 

The door had not been locked a moment before Christine was hurrying down the hallway towards Meg’s room, eager to pursue her passions once again. 

☽ ☽ ☽

 _A Prince, indeed._ Erik’s towering figure, cloaked in black, stepped forward from the doorframe and gave Nadir pause. Erik never failed to have this regal air about him. The older man wondered if it was part of what made him so frightful when he delved into madness. To see the facade shatter. 

To be fair, evening-wear never looked so striking. The black tailcoat and waistcoat contrasted greatly with the white shirt beneath it all, the white mask a pearlescent crown atop his face. Nadir winced at the sight of the mask, noticing how much it exaggerated his already sharp features. Erik had combed his hair back but left a piece to hang lightly over his forehead. He sipped his tea intently when he noticed that little addition to Erik’s design. 

Nadir rose as the masked man walked past him. Her wondered if his friend's mumbling to himself was a good thing or a bad thing as he had seldom seen him do it. Erik stood beside the little dresser that adjoined the coat rack, throwing on a long, black collared cape. His own dramatic fashion. 

Opening the little drawer with the silver handle, the one that contained his gloves, Erik urged himself to keep moving. If he stopped, he would never go to her, the bile in his throat rising at a momentary notice. But, for whatever reason, he stopped at the sight of the gloves in front of him. _Black or white._ It should have been a simple choice, but he paused, his hand hovering over the soft cotton gloves, before selecting the white gloves for this evening. _Black gloves are for men who are behaving in suspicious manners, participating in doings that involve the need to conceal one’s hands,_ he thought to himself. Erik did not want to hide, not anymore. Tonight, he would be a man going to see his love. Even if it may possibly involve scaling a wall or keeping to the shadows…

The heavy embroidery along his shoulders and at the hem weighed the thick cloak down, hindering its already inky movement over him. The hat atop his head was wide brimmed with black opalite feathers, casting his amber iris’ in shadow. Elegantly, he pulled the gloves over his long fingers, a come hither motion sliding them into position.

Erik had no mirror to stare at himself with. But, he knew from sensation alone that this was the best he was going to look. Nadir watched Erik pensively as he slipped on his own coat and hat. Erik looked very much like a fine gentleman going for an evening stroll, if one were to ignore the mask. 

“Are you all ready, my friend? Do you know what you need to do?” Nadir did not want to leave his friend without offering his help, his council.

“Daroga, I do believe I can handle returning to Christine on my own.” Erik retorted, some of his usual snark filling his voice. Nadir went to snort, to make a joke, but hesitated, wondering if he should say what really was on his mind.

“Remember, Erik, you broke her heart. It will take more than your return to form the relationship you have so desired with her.” Nadir did not wish to scare Erik off from his purpose, but merely prepare him for the possibility of a less than romantic confrontation. 

“I know, Nadir.” Erik met his eyes, his voice steady. Nadir let out a breath and nodded, turning himself towards the door, opening it. 

He did not know what to say to his anxious friend before he left, making a non-committal comment about returning for the remainder of their luncheon before closing the door behind him. Nadir did not want to hover over Erik at this moment, needing him to be confident and in control of his actions. He would wait across the street to make sure Erik left before heading towards his home. 

_How am I ever going to convince her I love her?_ Erik thought nervously to himself. Nadir had recommended that he think about why he loves her and then tell her that. He made it sound so easy. He loved Christine for her love of whimsy and stories. He loved how when she relaxed she could get so animated and involved in her singing, or her storytelling, or her reading. Erik wondered if she knew of her tendency to giggle and settle into the couch, bite her nail or twirl her finger around her curls when she was reading. He always loved seeing her like that. He loved how kind she was. Her empathy. He loved the fire in her eyes when she was determined. Although, he did once have a love-hate relationship with her ability to see what a person was like inside before judging them. Love, in the end, had won out. It had made him a better person. 

Erik saw his reflection in the faint light of the river lake beside his home as he moved towards the door. He was polished to a black shine, head to toe. The desire to cringe away from his image was strong, but he did not, and forced himself to gaze upon his visage. A flash of memory, of Christine’s face as she dragged her fingers over his cheeks, startled him, forcing him to remember a whisper he made to the still waters of the lake so many moons ago. It echoed back to him in that moment... _all I want is to be loved for myself._

Now he had someone who loved him for him... _What if she does not believe I love her? Or refuses me? What if she had returned and married the Vicomte? What does she even love about me?_ Erik shook the thoughts off his shoulders. He would deal with those thoughts when he needed to and now was not the time. Erik pulled the door open fiercely, the force of it causing the door hinges to whine in protest as the cold air of the cellars chilled his thin lips. _I’m coming, Christine._

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine had no music. She had no metronome or the ever-rapping rhythm of Madame Giry’s cane to keep her company. No, she was alone, in silence, with her passions, the only beat she followed was that of her own heart as it pounded in her veins. 

Christine spent hours dancing, moving, stretching and practicing. Falling quickly into the familiar motions. The exercise made her muscles relax and loosened her shoulders granting her a sense of peace and calm. 

But, she did not sing. She had tried, every hour since the Giry’s left, to sing, to exercise her voice. But, she could not, everytime she went to the crushing feeling of losing her Father and then _losing_ Erik made her falter. It tightened her throat and made it hard to breathe. Why did her voice always have to come at the cost of her heartbreak? 

She knew...she knew it was because music meant so much to her, that it was because singing was her way of saying _I love you._

So she danced and she danced, til her calves ached, and her legs trembled, and her feet pounded. The walk up to the apartment was painful, to say the very least. She made sure to lock both doors, as Meg had reminded her. 

But, the bath! Oh! The warm waters against her aching muscles were a wonderful sensation. The abdominal muscles were such an important factor in ballet and they visibly twitched and settled as she submerged herself in the water, washing the day away in Meg’s orange blossom scents. Christine giggled quietly to herself. She would have to tell Meg she saw the vials on her dresser and borrowed some for her bath! She just could not resist. Meg would forgive her, no doubt. 

After an hour in her bath, the waters slowly cooling around her, Christine rinsed off. The heavy ceramic pitcher with its little blue and green flowers reminded her of the pillows that Erik had placed in her room. She smiled as the water cascaded over her shoulders. She once was able to stand completely under the freezing cold tendrils of a waterfall when traveling with her father. She laughed, knowing that for time being, this was as close as she was going to get to a waterfall. _At least, the water was warm, s_ he mused to herself, laughing readily at her joke. 

Christine dressed languidly, enjoying the feeling of her skin drying in the night air. Fall may be arriving but the days had warmed recently, making the nights not so unbearably cold. A last hurrah for summer, most likely. Christine gathered her hair around her, brushing it softly, as she sat at the small vanity beside the window. The linen chemise she wore was gauzy and thin, more reminiscent of the underthings of the renaissance than the high collared and heavy nightgowns of the modern age. The chemise had long sleeves that cinched at her wrists and came down past her knees. It’s wide neckline allowed her skin to breathe at night. 

She breathed deeply as she stared at her hair in the mirror. The dark auburn curls glossy and full from her slow brushing. The very same brush her mother and father had gifted her at birth. She still remembered sitting between her father’s legs, him brushing her hair as they spoke of their favorite things. 

Christine turned her face to the moon, then, as images of her father and his stories flooded her mind. It sparkled over the seine, reflecting in its waters. Till this day, she could never look at the moon without thinking of the story of the brother and sister, Hjúki and Bil who followed the old Norse God, Mani, across the heavens carrying a pail. She could not remember why they carried the pail, as her father would always give a different reason every time he told the story. She laughed to herself, it was the tales that her father regaled to her that helped him remember his voice, so they would always be close to her heart. Sometimes, after a rough day at the ballet or in the chorus, she would tell those same stories to the girls who worked in the opera. Softly, never brave enough to use the same character acting her father did, she would tell them, enjoying herself at seeing everybody so enthralled. 

She once told Erik one of those stories. His audience was her favourite. She loved how at the beginning of her tale he would close his eyes and tilt his head back, but would open them to watch her intently, child-like, as the story grew more intense. It was the only time she ever felt herself fall into the same acting as her father did, never once worrying that she would be judged. 

She focused on the moon again, her window looking out over dark waters. The studio building of Madame Giry was right beside the river, having been a mill, once. Now, it was one of the many buildings whose sidewalks shared the high stone walls of the river banks. Her room sat at the side of the building allowing her to gaze upon the moving waters to her right, or watch the people coming home up the streets to her left. There was no one out now with it being so late; No fine ladies to see in bright colors or men in their fine tailored suits. 

_Erik._ She sighed once again to herself. She could not help it. _Am I allowed to feel like this?_ Christine wondered, momentarily asking the moon for advice, doubting her own emotions. She did not expect the enlightened emotion that spread through her, regardless, of how sullen it was. She thought of her Father. Raoul. Of Madame Giry and Meg. But, mostly she thought of Erik, fine lining every detail of her time with him, letting herself imagine what a life with him would have looked like. Maybe, it was ok to get those ‘What Ifs” out. Maybe, it would help her heal from all her heartbreak.

“Even if I do not have someone to love in such a way, I am still capable of it. I have not let the world get to me, and I know, I know that there is strength in that alone.” She promised herself, her only witness being the moon above her. That feeling of freedom did not escape her, did not run or flee or dissipate and she was overwhelmed with the need for music. To release all the love she had within her into the world. And so, she began to sing. She sang every love song she knew, letting it pour out of her like a water over the ledge of a waterfall. Some rang lightly in tones of italian, spanish, or her native swedish, while others glittered in French. But, she could not help the tears that streamed down her face as she sang her love to the moon. She could not fight them as much as she wanted to. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Erik carried no thoughts within his head but the image of Christine in his embrace. The fractured image of their only kiss laced with his own imaginings of a life together. It drove him forward, placed each foot in front of him without resistance. To any other witness, he appeared no more than a shadow in the night or ghostly movement under dancing lamp light. 

This area was pleasant, with old buildings that had been refitted for the new running water and experimental electrification. He trusted that the address Nadir had written down for him was correct.

He decided to stay near the stone wall along the river banks as he came near the house, it was farther away from street lamps and would give him a moment to assess how to enter without disturbing anyone in case she was not there...or without trying to scare Christine if she was. His anxiety rose as he considered all he would have to do to try to find her, talk to her. 

He did not have to do much. As he came up behind the mill, over the bridge, he heard it. The perfect, chrisp echoes of her voice graced him like silk sheets, or warm wine, or any other pleasurable metaphor he could conjure up. _Christine!_ He walked forward quickly, his thoughts interrupted by the hypnotic lure of his love singing. 

As he got closer, the joy that had filled his heart at her voice slowly wore into melancholy. He felt it, in every note, the heartbreak, the sadness in it. Her love songs were filled with a calm resignation, subtle, but there amongst the confident tones. He stopped before the corner, shrouded in the shadow of the building. He knew if he turned that corner, she would be there. He would see her singing. He wasn't sure he was ready for that. His lips trembled, his palms ached, he felt so overwhelmed with love, guilt, sadness. It was as if he could feel exactly what she was feeling in that moment. If her singing gave any indication to it. He hated it. He hated hearing the sorrow in her voice, especially knowing that he was the cause of it. _How could I have been so callous? So wrong? If only I could reach her, If only I could tell her._ He sang to himself, his emotions getting to him, the stinging tears blinding him. Erik had a visceral desire to sing back to her, to respond to her Juliet with his Romeo. But, he feared stepping into the light. 

He stepped around the corner, hiding in a column of inky darkness, unable to resist seeing her. He had never seen a sight so beautiful as his beloved graced with silver moonlight, her hair and eyes sparkling, her face looking out as if she were singing to the stars themselves. _Christine._

She stopped singing a little while later, her head lowering to rest on her arms as tears fell down her cheeks to wetten her sleeves. He couldn’t conceal himself anymore. He stepped forward, but was too late. He watched as she pulled herself from the window ledge, closing the curtains over them. She forgot to latch it! He exclaimed silently. He looked around, up at the wall, and across the street. All windows were closed and dark, he guessed that was as good a point as any to enter. He looked towards the moon and saw that clouds were beginning to pass over it. What grand timing! As the moon’s light faded behind them, Erik bounded over the gate on the side of the building beneath Christine’s window, scaling the gutter pipe like an assassin from the east before hopping onto the balconet. It was barely wide enough for him to stand. He checked the clouds over the moon, he still had some time so he brought his ear to the window, noticing only then that he could still see through. She was not in the room. He gently opened the window, thanking any and all gods that may exist for his luck in that moment and crawled in, not closing it entirely in case it made a sound.

When she came in, her head was down with some clothes in her hand as she turned to her armoire to hang them there, clearly absorbed in her task and light humming to notice him. He was struck stock still at the sight of her so close and out of his fear of her noticing him. She was gorgeous, ethereal in her chemise. Her bare feet and ankles peeking from beneath the fine fabric. He did not know what to do at that moment. He did not want to frighten her. 

The choice was made for him. The armoire had an oval mirror in it and as she stepped back she caught sight of him, jumping slightly before turning around. 

She looked as if she were in a trance or seeing a ghost; her eyes blown wide, her mouth open in a soft ‘O’ as a beautiful hand hovered over it. 

“ **Erik.** ” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I basically put Kay!Erik's design in the ALW Phantom outfit. I could not help it. I love that damn cloak and hat so much.  
> Here are images for what Christine and Erik were wearing:  
> https://www.mimimatthews.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/1885-evening-suit-via-victoria-and-albert-museum.jpg  
> https://cdn-img-1.wanelo.com/p/17d/dc1/afd/142865a918da376b0f775fc/x354-q80.jpg  
> https://data.whicdn.com/images/195979158/original.jpg


	6. Calando

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature Content Ahead.

Erik stood before her, his eyes as wide as she expected hers to be. But, _beautiful, that_ was the only thing that came to her mind at the sight of him. How beautiful he looked standing there dressed in black under the moonlight...like some fae prince meant to whisk her away. She tilted her head, sadness filling her expression, it was as if he were a character in the stories her father used to tell her. _Am I going mad? Do I miss him this much?_

He watched her take him in, how her breathing skipped as he stood there just gazing upon her form. Her scrutiny puzzled him, and he faltered in his step forward. “Christine,” her name escaped on a breath as he reached his hand out to her. 

The air in the room turned thick, instantly. It seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she was in for she stepped back slightly, a hurt expression crossing her face. 

“What are you doing here, Erik?” Her eyes met his, before they moved to memorize the grooves in the wooden flooring, a hopeless expression painting her face. He tried to fight back the instinct to throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness. But, he did not want her pity. He wanted her love. Her. 

“I came back...because I could not imagine a life without you, Christine. I love you.” He got out the most important fact first. He loved her. He truly did and the gasp that escaped her lips wove gold into his veins.

“Neither could I, Erik. But, that was before you told me you did not love me, that you were MISTAKEN in your affections for me. What made you change your mind? You couldn’t find anyone else to lie to?” Her stance had become defensive and she kept her head down, trying to hide the tears coming down her face.

Christine paused, trying to catch her breath, she felt it. She felt herself going out of her mind in anger, in frustration. _He loves me?!_ She had imagined him returning to her. She had imagined the joy, the revelation that would come if he returned to her. She imagined falling into his arms, both of them happy and peaceful. But, reality was different, this wave of anger that she was unaware she held washed over her. But, that feeling in her palms, like someone had dug a hole or a heavy rock was being pushed into her hands, flooded her. She was hurt. She hated how much he had hurt her. How was she even supposed to navigate this? They had no foundation for their relationship and everytime **SHE** had gone to found one in honesty, truth, love... **HE** had betrayed her. Now, he loved her? What was she to believe? 

Erik despised what he saw in Christine’s face. He never knew why he had thought he would see anything different. “No, no, Christine, no. Please. I thought-- I thought that I had nothing to offer you and that you would never be happy with me. ” His voice was so weak, so soft. Erik felt so bereft. She was so close, but the farthest she had ever been from him. 

“You lied to me! How can you possibly expect me to believe you love me now? Maybe you were right, Erik...maybe you only loved me because I was the first one to show you kindness and now you just want that back.” The temper in her voice faded into a breathy tone of longing as she turned her back to him, wrapping herself in her embrace. He recognized this same position as the one she would take when she felt alone, when she would cry over her father. “Just go, Erik, don’t--” 

He rushed to step up behind Christine, and wrapped his arms around her, placing his masked forehead onto her shoulder. His hat was beyond skewed. Christine noticed the feathers of his hat against her cheek, felt the little warmth the cloak had trapped singing love into her skin. She wished she could just ignore everything and step back into his cloak, forgetting the world as she did so. Erik, realized then, that this fear that coiled low in his belly must have been the same fear Christine wore when she came back to him...when he rejected her, denied her...betrayed her. 

“Please, Christine, please, believe me. I love you. I love everything that you are. I love the way you walk around with a blanket in the morning after waking up. I love the way you tell stories and the way you sing with everything in you. I love the crinkle in your nose when you smile and the deep breaths you take when you laugh too hard. I love watching you pour over a piece of music, deconstructing it in your head. Please, I love you. Everything. Everything. I thought that there was no possible way you could love me, not after everything I had done. But, you came back. I thought, perhaps, you just wanted my voice, not me! Even then, I thought, that if you could possibly love someone like me there was no way I could ever be enough for someone with so much kindness. Death only ever takes...Please, I know, I know I have done so much wrong. I know that maybe if things had been different all this would not have happened, and I wasn’t born with such a face, and---” 

“No, Erik!” She whipped around out of his arms trying to ignore the goosebumps and fluttering in her stomach at his being so near. She would not look at him, firm in the belief that she would break at the sight of Erik’s gilded eyes filled with tears. “...MAYBE if you hadn’t built our relationship on lies, this wouldn’t have happened. I wanted to know who Erik was. I didn’t just want your music, I wanted your voice because it was yours. I wanted to know the person behind it! BUT YOU NEVER LET ME!” She was practically shrieking now. 

“It was never about your face, either!” She added, trying to calm herself down. Erik had stepped away from her, trying to calm his raging body at the feel of her pressed against him. Her words rang true. But, there was no way he could believe it had never been about his face. 

“Christine, even I cannot believe that such a notion could be true...as much as I wish it were, I saw the look on your own face when you first saw **_me_ **.” He cringed on the last word, taking his hat off mid sentence in defeat. 

“It was because you lunged at me, Erik. How did you expect me to act?” 

“You took it off so suddenly, Christine, without asking. I---” He felt ashamed, but how could she have known that no one had ever touched his mask without the threat of violence? She was not even aware of it now. 

“You know what? Yes! I removed your mask without your consent. But, suddenly I am more or less stolen away by a man who used an image of my father in order to manipulate me! Can you imagine how angry, how betrayed I felt that the one person I thought was actually listening to me, who was actually there for me, wasn’t? Never had been?” She’s more or less yelling at him and she hates it. She doesn’t want to berate him, but why is it that she is always the one who has to remain calm when every other man in her life is swinging about the chandelier? Why is she to stand quiet when it is her who has been manipulated, lied to, abandoned?! 

At the sound of vexation in her voice, Erik truly fights the urge to fall to his feet and beg. But, he stands shocked. He is embarrassed to say that he never truly considered it. To him, it was a necessity. There was no other way to reach her, to be near her, but to fall into her whispers to the Angel of Music.

His voice is weak, feeble, but he answers.“But, I was always there for you, Christine, in the shadows, in case you ever needed me.”

“That’s not what I wanted, Erik.”

Christine wanted nothing more in that moment than to have him around her again, but understood that they could never move forward without getting over this. The air was tight, pensive, both carefully treading a line, weighing their words, not sure what to say next. “I did not know....”

“Of course you didn’t know, Erik! You were so absorbed in your own pity for yourself that you refused to see me....to see how many times I reached out to take your hand and you would flinch away!”

His head remained bowed, cringing at those memories.

Crying, Christine yells, so done with all this heartbreak, “We were both so alone, Erik! I heard it in your voice and I knew it in mine. We were two people looking for someone to confide in. But, you tried to make everyone else suffer with you because you didn’t have the bravery to face it yourself. I made my mistakes by unmasking you; but I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it impulsively; out of exhaustion for being lied to by someone I cared about so much! That you allowed the lie to continue by concealing yourself from. How selfishly you regarded me when it was important.” 

“What did you expect me to do…?” A tinge of his own frustration with his life and his tendencies were evident in his voice. “How could I just give you up and reveal my face and watch the only part of my life that made it worth anything, walk away? You are everything to me. And I couldn’t fathom that you would ever accept me. I felt like I was grasping at air. I didn’t know what to do...” Tears streamed down Erik’s face, behind the mask. His shoulders shaking, “...and everytime you went to reach out for my hand, I longed to hold them in mine, more than anything. But, the image of a hand like mine touching hands like yours made me cringe away. I did not wish to taint you.” Christine stood shocked, she never realized how little Erik thought of himself. She had assumed based on his behavior and Nadir’s story but, hearing Erik say it out loud tore at her heart. She yearned to comfort him, to kiss his hands, and tell him that she never thought of him like that. 

He continued, shuddering, “....what I have done is reprehensible and unforgivable and I’m a monster for it. Not just my face. But, my actions. Everything. I was grasping because I thought there was nothing I could offer you...” He removes the mask and sets it on the little bench in front of the bed. Rivers of tears following the harsh valleys of his visage. “ **This…”** He gestures to his face, “...has never brought me anything but pain, and surely not love. I could never be what you deserved. But, I was too much in love with you, needed you too much to stay away. I was selfish.” The sorrow in Erik’s eyes, the pain she felt rolling off of him in waves, broke any other interest she had in fighting with him. He did love her. 

Christine moved toward him slowly, taking him in before she wipes the tears from his cheeks with her thumb. She whispers close to him, planting kisses on his wet cheeks... “explaining to me why you wore the mask, opening up to me, walking with me hand in hand, instead of forcibly by the wrists....is all I desired from you, my love.” He returns the favor, freely expressing himself by kissing the salt from her cheeks, holding them in his hands, and bending down slightly to delicately pull the tears off her eyelashes with his lips. 

“I want nothing more than to walk beside you, hand in hand, in whatever manner you decide. As friends, as more than that. I will gladly walk away should you desire that as well. As long as I am assured that you are happy and safe, I will do anything.” Erik whispers, firm in voice, but not in spirit, as he moves his forehead to rest against her. He would, though, walk away. 

“As much more than that, Erik. I want you by my side. To walk through life with me.” She covers her hand over his where it rests on her cheeks, kissing his palms with a reverence he had only dreamed of experiencing. 

“Are you sure, Erik, about me?” She adds, her insecurities forcing her to ask.

“Most ardently.” He responds, as he grasps her hands and pulls her to his chest, pressing her palms against his beating heart. His other is around her waist, their foreheads touching as they swayed to silent music. 

The world, just then, is only two. “May I kiss you, Christine?” He asks, noticing that his lips dragging across her skin were edging towards hers. _Inevitable,_ he thought to himself. She nods, barely able to whisper out a yes before his mouth descends upon hers. 

Kisses that one started slow, now turned fevered as they began pulling and pushing against each other with changing pressure. Their tears and emotions had weakened their resolve to hold back from the other and they gave into everything that had been denied them. 

He wrapped his arms around her as she cradled his head against her, sighing softly into each other’s mouths, breathing rushed and gasping, hands slowly exploring, tongues entwining and tasting the other. Christine pulled back slightly to catch her breath, as Erik stole one last kiss before pulling her closer to his chest to plant kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Christine is on her toes now, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to keep her balance, letting her fingers slide up to massage the vertebrae in the back of his neck. He moans deeply at that, the vibrations shooting down her throat to her core, a deep throb pulsing between her legs. She places her own face towards his pulse, patient sucking kisses that imprint the memory of his skin on her lips. He shivers in her arms at that and she realizes how he is slightly shaking, realizing that this may be the kindest moment of touch he has ever experienced. With that in mind, she soothes him by pressing her palms down his arms, trying her best to ignore his mouthing at her neck. She could not and as he bites gently down on the vein in her throat she moans deeply, throwing her head back, and herself, further into his embrace. 

He pulls back suddenly, his arms still around her waist. “Did I hurt you, dearest one?” He panted. She was too dazed to answer right away and she brought her hand up to his jaw, letting her finger slide down it, “...No, you did not.” He breathes out at that, bringing her closer once again, foreheads resting against the other. She was looking at him, watching him with heavy lidded eyes, and he could not take her looking so keenly on his face. Even if she was gracing him with loving touches. So he pulled her closer still, planting a soft kiss to her cheek, before just embracing her. 

Their breaths were hitched from crying and kissing and they spent many long moments just holding each other, trying to calm the other with their presence. 

“I better get going…” He pulls away and kisses her forehead, fighting the instinct to reach for his mask, wanting to show her that he trusted her, “...But, I’ll be back tomorrow, my love.” He didn’t want to presume he was welcome to stay, even if Madame Giry was not in; **_that_ ** he had deduced when she began voicing her opinions to him. 

“Please, Erik, stay. They said they would most likely not return till tomorrow and I-I desire nothing more than to lay beside you, tonight.” He stood, shocked, at the mix of fear and longing in her eyes. 

“Are you sure?” He rubbed his thumb along the plump roundness of her cheeks, loving the blush that rose as he moved his thumb over her. He could not promise that he did not continue doing so only for the sake of seeing the blood rush to the skin below his hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and he thickened in his trousers. He thought for a moment that he should not be this reactive to a simple touch.

“I can’t bear the thought of waking up...and you not being here. As if...as if you were never here to begin with and this was all just a dream.” She slowly moved her fingers against the lines in his shirt, slightly embarrassed by her manner of speech. He couldn’t say no to her after that. So impulsively, Erik pulled her to him, picking her up bridal style, before carrying her off to her bed, whispering that he could not bear the thought either. He is surprised at her brazen advance towards removing his cravat. She succeeds, tossing it somewhere amongst the sheets. He sets her down, and she beckons him to lay beside her. She notices the awkward curling in of his shoulders, his apprehensiveness at laying beside her. 

“You do not have to do anything you do not wish to do, Erik. It is only an invitation.” He sees that same sad smile upon her lips that he did the night he abandoned her. In that moment, Erik makes a decision. He refuses to lie to her any longer, he wants nothing more than to sleep beside her, feel her pressed to him as she slumbers. So, undressing down to his socks, trousers, and linen shirt beneath his outerwear, he crawls in beside her. She couldn’t help but trace where his shirt opened just as he couldn't help but massage the back of her neck, entangling his fingers in her hair. 

He ached for her, her very presence, and it was overwhelming. But, it was not enough to dilute the insecurities which plagued him. They were too strong, too many years of abuse and torture both phyiscal and mental had left Erik with scars over his heart. _How could someone as beautiful as Christine ever bear to look at me? How can she bear to touch my body? Which is only slightly less abhorrent than my face?_ He thought to himself and he had to ask, to know, as much as he feared the answer. 

“How can you bear to look upon me?” His question did not surprise her and she lifted her head up to meet him eye for eye, acutely aware of the fact that the wrong words could close Erik off from her. 

His question reminded her of when he removed his hat, how she saw the hair that fell over his mask, how endearing she found that little break in his appearance, how attractive. She traces his face with her right hand, her left one supporting her weight. Christine glides her fingers over his forehead, across the tendons in his cheeks, down the broken nose bridge and around the gaping hole in his face, before softly tracing his lips with the tips of her digits. She bends forwards and places a delicate kiss upon him. 

“I realize now that I have never been fond of the boyish charms that some women enjoy in men today. Curled hair and mustaches. Soft linens and clerical dispositions. It is not what I find attractive. It is the sensuality in you that I noticed. The elegant cheekbones, the gold eyes, the strong jaw line, and your beautiful hands. The way the vines of your veins coil in your arms. A glean to belied strength.” He shivers at her words. 

“But, most of all, it was those moments you seemed to see right through me, your ability to glean every wish and joy in my heart and turn it into reality. First, with music, then books and stories, down to every little detail in the room you said was for me. It was your humor, your intent, your intelligence. You, my Erik. I know your face has brought you so much pain. But, if you can look past the sad, weeping girl who did nothing but mope around til you came along then I can surely look past the absence of a nose.” 

“My eyes? You love my eyes?” His gold eyes were unnatural, animalistic, almost. _Haunting,_ he had once been told.

“Since the moment they met mine.” 

Erik was abashed by her confession, the honesty was not something he expected. The comfort a few simple sentences brought him was immense, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But, it was embarrassing. Had he truly let the people who judged him carry so much weight, needlessly, for all these years? He knew that the voices of doubt would come and go. But, with Christine, he knew that he could move past them. 

“Thank you.” He whispered to her as they lay on their sides, facing the other, their legs entangled. He loved feeling her against him having spent so much time imagining just this.

He felt her shift and peered down to find her looking up at him. This beautiful expression was one he wished to paint, to write music about. He recognized it as her requesting a kiss. She was intoxicated by his presence, the sensation of his body against hers everything that she dreamed of and more.

He understood her silent plea, and began placing subdued kisses upon her lips, not wanting to overwhelm her with the intensity of how he ached for her. Already, his pants were becoming far too tight. Christine realized, then, that she wanted more. She truly did and so she kissed him back with a little more urgency to signify her intent. He responded immediately, and pulled her closer to him, before throwing his left arm to the side of her head, moving to place panting kisses down her throat. She arched into him, letting out a cry of wanton desire as his lips suckled at the skin of her neck. She bent her right leg at the knee, rubbing it against his side, and something in her gestures, ignited a feral heat inside him and he threw himself at her throat and bosom, planting desperate kisses. Anything, to hear that sound emanate from her throat again. 

“Erik…” she gasped, a soft coo ending the sweet vibration of his name on her lips. 

“Allow me, my love, please. To dote on you as I have desired to. Please, my darling. Please. “ He begged into her neck, softly moving his hands low across her belly, dragging his thumb across the sensitive skin below her navel through the chemise.

“Erik” she moaned, “...yes”. Her pleading answer caused him to groan loudly into her ear. He settled himself closer to her, instantly moving his large hand to cup her thigh in his palms, squeezing intently as he dragged her chemise up with his forward movement. She wore no under things. Ah! He didn’t want to rush her. He didn’t want to pressure her, so he softly rubbed the crease between thigh and hip, worshipping her neck and chest with kisses and laves of tongue. Her hips had begun to follow the rubbing motion and his member swelled at the sight. He followed his head up to capture her mouth, desperate to memorize every sound that seeped from the fountain of her lips. Christine was all too eager to enjoy him against her once again and so she wrapped her arms around him, splaying the fingers of one hand into his hair and tugging, throwing her leg over his hip. 

“Erik, please!” He growled at her words and finally moved his fingers to the warm cleft between her legs. He gasped into her mouth. “God, you’re so wet, my Christine.” She whimpered at his statement, her head lolling back as he explored her soft folds, his possessive movements speaking to her passion. She did not know how much of his hesitant fingers she could take. 

Christine did not have to wait. Erik moved his fingers up, stopping when she bucked against him roughly, releasing his name on a loud shuddering exhale. He found the tight nub again, rubbing that spot with more intent, more pressure. Her hips were moving so ravenously against him and he lifted himself up slightly to watch her face. She followed his movement with her hand, holding his neck, rubbing her thumb over the hollow at the base of his throat. The other was thrown back over her head, her back arching with the pressure between her limbs. 

“Erik, Erik, Erik!” She chanted over and over again. The feeling of the man she loved touching her so intimately was none like any other that she had experienced. Her chemise had slipped far past her shoulder and left a breast exposed to the cool air of the room. It’s peak tight with arousal. He could not help himself, and when her back arched again with her nearing climax, he dove toward the offering. She grasped him with both arms holding him to her breast as he knelt over her. His lips and teeth tugging at the sensitive nipples, and his fingers working intently between her legs drew her close to the edge. She felt it, she felt it rising within her, she was so close. A thumb at her tender clit and his fingers softly dipping into her folds, teasing her with fullness, pushed her past the brink. She curled her back with one final cry as waves of pleasure crested over her. 

The circular motion of Erik’s digits between her legs as soft kisses were placed up her torso, and into her hair, his sweet declarations of love, all stoked the fires of her ardor. She pulled his face down to kiss him, and he finally removed his fingers to place it beside her head, moving his body closer to her to do so with more intimacy. She rubbed the tendons in his cheeks with intent, no whispering fingers, but the tender massaging of his jaw as he pushed his tongue again hers. He muttered a curse at that, his eyes closing tightly, as his manhood twitched between his legs. She dragged her hands down his chest and over his sides, drawing him deeper into their lip-lock by changing angles and gasping his name. His brows were drawn together and he looked so lost, so beautifully lost in her embrace. She came upon the front of his trousers, moving closer and closer towards the bulge in his pants with each stroke. He gasped, his lips faltering as she placed her palm over his concealed member. Her fingers could not fully encompass what lay beneath the fabric, and it made her core throb. He moaned loudly as she began to rock her hand, his hips bucking into her. 

He had never experienced such searing pleasure than that of her palms rubbing intently over him. _Gods, yes!_ He thought to himself in his haze of lust. She began to release his buttons as she kissed him, throwing her legs over his calves. He paused when he felt her warm hands begin to enter his underclothes. 

“No, my darling love, you do not have to. This night was meant for you.” He groaned out his last words as she wrapped her fingers around his turgid length. 

Erik was finally free from the confines of his trousers, laying heavy in her palm, so she began to tighten her grip, moving, and raised herself up to whisper in his ear “This night, us, they are not only about me....” Christine took his earlobe between her lips and pulled, before trailing wet open mouth kisses down his throat, moaning as she found his pulse and gingerly bit down. He bucked roughly into her palm, gasping out her name. She took that as a cue to move her hand over him more swiftly, tightening her hand around him over each pass. 

“Christine, nnh——- I’m so close, my darling.” His shirt had fallen open to expose his chest. She groaned at the sight, trailing the nails of her other hand down his torso while pulling at his arousal. He was so thin, but the lithe pull of muscle and strength that stretched over his abdomen and ribs ignited something within her that she was not aware of. His eyes flashed open and saw the ravenous look of pleasure on her face as she touched him. How her legs were spread under him. How her hips were still moving with him. He could not take it anymore. He had never been touched like this, had never imagined this intensity with Christine. With a final shout of her name and a sudden thrust of his hips, he climaxed harshly into her palm. She took the thick moisture and spread it over the sensitive head, prolonging his pleasure, enraptured with the expression of ecstasy on his face. His eyebrows drawn tight together, his mouth open and jaw tight as he released so many heavenly sounds. She was enraptured. 

“Christine, please, my darling, I cannot—-“ He moaned out before taking her lips in a kiss. He couldn’t bear the way she stared up at him with his face in full view, even if she looked upon him with such rich desire. A nymph in his arms. Her hands had not left his body and she was still lovingly moving her hand over him. He groaned loudly into her neck, begging her to stop, to never stop, to keep going. 

He pressed his chest to hers as he returned to her lips, raising her leg over his hip. He needed more. He needed so much more of her. God, how he ached for her. He told her so, biting her neck harder than he anticipated. She continued tugging at his length, turning his blood to magma. But, at his growl she released him. He thrusted his exposed groin towards her and she let out a keening cry at the feel of his skin meeting her own naked flesh.

She held his exposed waist in her palms and moved her hips towards him, meeting his gold eyes. He forgot about his insecurities for the moment. 

“Oh!” She cried as the head of his length caught her sore clit, “...Erik, please, I need you now.” She pulled him down to her lips as he fell to meet hers, their tongues entwining as they groaned into each other’s mouths. Their arms and legs wrapped as they molded into each other, enjoying the slick glide of their exposed bodies against each other. 

The sound of a cane and keys cooled their fierce ardor quickly. Christine was quick, she pulled Erik down next to her and covered them with the down comforter, gesturing to him to be quiet with a finger to her lips. He would have found it endearing if not for the impending threat of being discovered and the embarrassment for Christine that could follow. 

“Mama, I’m going to go check on Christine.” They both tensed as Meg’s words floated through the room.

“Yes, do not disturb her if she is sleeping, she has gone through much.” Christine smiled at their worry, and he noticed her smile from where he lay partially beneath her. He is in love with her all the more for seeing her like that. 

The door begins to open and Christine pulls him closer to her breast, a pillow covering his head to conceal him. Thankfully, he could still breathe. He quite enjoyed what his torn face was lying against. He enjoyed the position very much. He nuzzled closer to her and under the pillow she languidly stroked his cheek. His traitorous manhood twitched at that. He angled his hips away from her, careful to not disturb the blankets and was grateful when she placed her hand over the pillow. He focused on her and saw that her eyes were shut and her breath had evened in false sleep. _Ah, my Christine is truly a great actress,_ he thought to himself. 

The door shut as Meg felt content at seeing Christine sleeping. 

“Is she asleep?” Madame Giry’s voice flooded into the room. Christine’s breathing had returned to normal after Meg had left, removing the pillow and cover from over his head. He didn’t dare move yet. Both women were still just outside the door. 

“Yes, she was clutching her pillow but I saw her. I’m worried for her. I’ve gone in there to check on her at night and she’s always curled around her pillow.” Christine became self conscious at the words of her friend. The wound of Erik’s rejection only freshly healed. 

“So, it is with heartbreak. Even in sleep, you yearn for the presence of that person beside you.” He tightened his arms around her at those words, pulling her chemise down where it had risen high on her thighs, rubbing her back over it, placing a delicate brush of his lips to her neck in apology. She kissed his forehead and combed his hair back. He wondered for a moment why the arm beneath him was angled oddly away from his body. But, quickly came back to attention as the Ballet Master and her daughter bid their good nights to each other. 

When the house grew still once more, he pulled back from her to better make them comfortable, and cover each other. He, then realized, embarrassingly, that her other hand must still be covered in his release. 

“Where is your toilette?” He whispered. 

She looked questioningly at him, “Left of the window.” He stepped out of the bed and walked over, preparing a wet cloth for her. He wiped his own hands on the outside, before folding it so that she may use a clean side as well. 

He leaned over the bed on one knee, raising her by the hand to sit, before cleaning her fingers and wrists, gently wiping across her neck and chest as well with the other side. He moved the towel up her thighs before looking up at her, not wanting to push her boundaries. She nodded at him and bit her lip, assuring him. 

Christine was pleasantly surprised by the care with which he handled her; by his actions, alone. He didn’t meet her eyes while he did so, and that worried her for a moment. 

She sat up properly and raised her left hand to his neck, tilting his head towards her. 

“Thank you, my love.” She whispered and leaned up for a kiss, which he calmly met. Their lips softly gliding across each other. She hesitated about whether she should tell him that his actions impacted her greatly. Wondering if it was unbecoming to be so expressive. _This is Erik. He wouldn’t begrudge me. He probably would be reaffirmed knowing how I felt._

Erik’s head was lost in thought. Was it ok for him to softly clean his love as such? He had never heard of men doing so. He had spun himself up into his own head in the moments it took him to walk back to her. But, the look of awe and happiness on her face calmed him. _Why wouldn’t I help? What was wrong with what I did?_ He decided to listen to his instincts. 

“Thank you, for doing that, it was so wonderfully caring. Such a loving gesture to me.” She said to him after they pulled away from their kiss. 

“I was worried you would find it unbecoming of me to do so.” Erik replies, laughter edging into the corners of his mouth. 

Christine let out a breathy chuckle, trying to quiet her amusement. “Funny, I thought you would regard my expressing how much it meant to me as unbecoming.” 

“Never.” He presses his forehead to hers, holding her hand to his chest after giving her fingers a gentlemanly kiss. 

“Let’s sleep, Erik.” She nuzzled the space under his eyes with her nose. His eyelashes, surprisingly long, tickled the apples of her cheeks. 

“Yes.” He whispered. 

Sinking down in the center of the bed, he pulled Christine partially on top of him. Her legs wrapped around one of his, her arm thrown over his chest. One of his hands sat resting on her shoulder blades and the other, over the hand that rested on his exposed pectoral. 

_For a man with no eyebrows or facial hair due to a deformity, he has surprisingly long and beautiful eyelashes._ The thought hadn’t escaped her, so she decided to voice it to him. 

He let out a low chuckle. His arms tightening around her as he relaxed further into the position. He had never had anyone talk about his face in such a manner. As if it were…nothing. 

“You’re not the first to notice. Nadir once said that I was only two horns away from being a bull. Since I already had the eyelashes and the earring. He was quite upset over my obstinate behavior that day, even regarded me as bull-headed for a time there!” 

“You had an earring?” She peeked her head up at him. There was still so much she didn’t know about him. 

“For a few years, yes, moments of vanity shining through,” murmuring his last remark dramatically.

“Mmmm, Erik and vanity. The two go together far more often than one would realize.” She mused sarcastically, raising her head to smile at him, showing she was kidding.. He huffed indignantly, not daring to protest. 

“What were you being so obstinate about?” She laid her head back down on his chest. Her thumb rubbing against his. 

“Nadir was trying to get me to work with him to do something for the greater good. The good police chief he was. Obviously, the great booby was wrong about my being ‘bull-headed’ because I acquiesced to his request.” 

She chuckled, happy to see Erik being....Erik. 

“Hmmmm....I’m glad.” She nestled into him, exhausted once again. But, this time for a much more exhilarating reason. Erik was falling asleep, too, but something kept him awake. 

“I love you, Christine.” 

“As I love you, Erik.” 

The moon over the seine that night had never looked so beautiful to either of them. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first published smut. I hope you guys enjoyed what I have written so far. :))


	7. Vibrato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long. Collegiate work has been stressful. I hope you enjoy. Stay safe out there!

A curdling scream and the slam of a door ripped through the home of the Giry’s, startling Christine and Erik from their slumber. Erik, too predisposed to being woken by danger, threw himself over her. His eyes wide and breathing quick. Christine, still sleep-addled, gazed up at Erik, her hand on his naked back, trying to sooth him. 

The voice of Madame Giry echoed from outside “Meg, my darling, what is the matter?” Concern laced her voice. 

“There is a TALL, SKINNY man in Christine’s bed!” Meg practically shouted. 

Silence echoed throughout the house. A burst of laughter erupted from Madame Giry, peels of it that continued for several moments.

Christine and Erik looked at each other and smiled softly, still stunned.  _ His face truly is remarkable,  _ she thought. There was no horror in her thoughts, or disgust. She had no other word, but remarkable. What else could she say? She loved him, for all he was, all he could be, and she had already become accustomed to it. Erik went to ease himself off of her, still breathing hard, but, she stopped, touching him softly.  _ His shirt is still open _ , she noted.  _ He’s here.  _ He looked down at her, shocked and happy that last night was not a dream. No, she was real. She was here. Not a fantasy, not a watercolor painting in his home, or the essence of a melody, she was here. She raised her hand to his cheek, smiling so hard tears came to her eyes. He started. His face, exposed, in the daylight. Terror arched up his spine. There were things that could be hidden in moonlight that could not be hidden under the sun.  _ The sun, oh she was not so forgiving, no, such cold, unfeeling light.  _ Erik thought to himself. He moved away from Christine, to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her, looking for his mask. 

She saw the moment panic flooded his body. She saw the moment he remembered he was not a ‘normal’ man. Her heart ached. But, she understood. She wouldn’t push him, not now, not with people that did not know him so near. She stood upon her knees on the bed and came up behind him wrapping her arms around him, pressing herself to his back. 

“It’s ok, Erik. I love you.” 

He took a deep breath.  _ Does she prefer me with the mask? Of course, she does. It is less embarrassing for her, at least, to be seen with the illusion of a normal man.  _ He thought. A wave of anxiety flooded him at the thought of meeting the Ballet Master and her daughter in broad daylight. 

“I understand you feel safer with the mask. You are loved, regardless, Erik.” She assured him, worried about his lack of response to her embrace. 

The mask was now firmly in place, and feeling oddly heavier than it did before. He turned to face her and brought her into his arms. 

“I know. I know. It’s just ---” Erik shut his eyes tightly as he spoke. She touched his lips, cutting him off. “I understand, it's ok.” 

He leaned closer to her, getting lost in her cyan eyes, her nearness. Their lips met, like magnets spinning into each other, sipping kisses from the fountains of each other’s mouths. A shuttering exhale escaped him as he dropped his hands to wrap around her waist. Her fingers delved into his hair, deepening the kiss. He tilted his head, placing pressure on her jaw. She opened delightedly and felt the velvety tip of his tongue glide against hers. After several moments like this, they both slowed, gazing at each other. 

“Good Morning, Erik.”

“Good Morning, Christine.” 

They basked in the warmth of a simple greeting to each other. 

A knock sounded at the door. “When you two are…” Madame Giry cleared her throat, trying to conceal her amusement, “...dressed, breakfast and tea are ready.” 

She nuzzled against him. Humming, softly.  _ Ah. The wondrous sounds of a contented woman,  _ Erik mused to himself. Erik was lost, dazed, basking in the warmth of Christine pressed against him. 

As they sat, listening to each other’s hearts beating, enjoying the comforting embrace, the affirmation of loneliness concluded...they realized it had become noticeably quiet around them.

Christine peeked an eye up at Erik. “You know...they are waiting for us.”

“What…like feral dogs?” He responded, sleepily, dragging her close to him to bury his face in her hair. 

Christine jerked from the force of her laughter and smiled broadly at him, leaning forward to steal a kiss from the man beside her. 

“Come, let’s get dressed, my love.” Erik nodded, glad to just hear her call him that. 

Christine and Erik assisted each other in dressing. She buttoned his shirt and adjusted his waist coast, while he helped with her stays and the binding on the bodice. Her willingness to touch him was just beginning to surprise him. She helped dress him like a wife would, and he, like a husband. His bodily response to such a thought was something he considered incorrigible. 

It was an undercurrent of desire, of anxiety, and love that prevented them from moving away from each other. They were there, together. They understood that there were many things still left unanswered. Christine knew that they could get through anything as long as they were together as Erik still feared the voices that would come, to tease and torment him, to mock his love for her. They both understood that there was work to be done in order to create a stable relationship. 

“Are you ready, Erik?” She asked. He knew that she meant more than being dressed. 

“As long as I am with you, I am.” He took her hand in his, raising it to kiss the backs of her fingers. She held the side of his face for a moment, before moving forward to open the door. He stood right behind her, towering over his Christine like some demented gargoyle. A smile spread across his face at that, a mirthful one. He was more like a gargoyle than he realized and it tickled him. He would have to tell Christine later. 

Reality burned at his cornea as the light from the windows in the kitchen spread across his form. He could not remember the last time daylight had touched his skin. It reminded him how much he missed its warmth. 

“Ah. Christine, Monsieur Le Fantome, how nice it is for you to join us.” Madame Giry announced languidly. He looked at Christine, who was currently shooting Madame Giry a mischievous smile. 

“I’ve always wondered what in god’s name you looked like.” Meg stated plainly, knowing eyes bouncing between Christine and her partner. 

Christine’s face went beat red as her friend stared her down. Had Meg heard them last night as they came up the hallway? She was mortified, but bemused. 

“Good Morning to you, as well, Meg Giry.” Erik’s voice betrayed only slight amusement. He was unaccustomed to being amongst people, especially a trio of women, who were not screaming at the mere sight of him. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment. Christine’s presence was keeping him focused. 

“Breakfast is about ready if you’ll join us.” Madame Giry gazed at him and then towards the chair in front of him.

“Of course, thank you.” Christine replied. 

“Yes, thank you.” Erik whispered out, unsure in such a unique situation. He felt out of place, like someone shoved a piece of gothic art amongst a sea of painted flowers. 

“Christine, please give me a hand. Meg is sorting through our correspondences at the moment.” Antoinette called out. 

Christine was wary of the intonation in her voice, and even more wary to leave Erik alone with Meg. She knew Erik was not a normal man, nor one with a normal history. She had no fear that he would harm anyone unbidden, but feared that he might think of himself less if someone were to bring it up again. They were trying to move past all that. 

It would be an understatement to say that Erik was unsure of what to do besides trail after Christine like some lost dog, but he had been around enough people in his life, albeit intermittently, that he knew Madame Giry wished to speak to Christine alone. He thought of Nadir.  _ What would Nadir do? Probably sit his persian ass down in a chair and try to make small talk,  _ Erik thought to himself. He could manage the former, but the latter….he doubted it. 

Little Meg  **certainly** was going through their correspondences. She was surrounded by a large law book propped up on a bookstand and several sheets of paper; whatever she was looking at seemed to have a lot of legal jargon involved. Her diligent focus allowed Erik to begin reading the papers in front of the little Giry girl with interest….and upside down. 

As Erik read, he realized that what he was seeing was legal documents for the owner of a house and who had legal rights to it depending on the wording of the contract. Meg Giry turned the page and there listed the owners, renters and rights of the property at... _ It is this building!  _ Erik realized and swiftly moved his eyes over the names on the property: 

**“...partial ownership divided between: Antionette Giry, Meg Giry, and Raoul, Vicomte De Changy.”**

Erik’s heart stopped. He did not like that, not like that at all. His blood ran up, and heat flooded his neck and hands. Erik had to do something about this. 

But, he paused.  _ Why am I considering the Vicomte as a threat when he is presumably the one who bought them this home? How can I be deserving of Christine if I continue to think in such a manner? Such violent thoughts…. _ Erik calmed himself. If it was an issue, then he would offer his help. It was not his place to jump to conclusions or intervene. 

“Are you finished reading? I don’t wish to move to the next page if you are not done.” The young woman’s sarcastic intonation pulled him out of his thoughts. She raised her face to him, her gaze, steely. He could still see the little girl who used to sometimes leave the “Opera Ghost” little gifts in his box; hoping it would appease him enough to leave the ballet girls be. Erik cringed. It was never him bothering the ballet girls but some of the male stage hands. He rectified  **that** situation quickly enough. As Erik considered her words, he recognized that this woman before him was no longer a little girl, but an individual with her mother’s fire in her eyes. 

“So, you’re… Erik. Hmph.” She set the magnifying glass down. 

“I am Erik.” A bitter-sweet memory of the first time he said that to Christine flashed in front of his gilded eyes. She looked him over, not hiding to stare at his masked face.

She glanced at the door, her eyes darkening. “So… are you done?” 

“Done with what?” He responded. His voice controlled. A weariness in the pit of Meg’s stomach reminded her of the person she was speaking to. But, the love for her friend overpowered her childish fear of the Phantom of the Opera. He should know how much he hurt Christine. Her poor friend. 

“Hurting her. Are you done?” 

Erik's eyes widened...an unknown expression descending over him. He deserved this. He just did not know how to respond. The body language and look of sadness in his eyes at her questions appeased Meg, for a moment. A flash of Christine’s despondent character reminding her of how much he affects her. 

“I do not wish to ever see Christine as I have these past few days. She was trying so hard to move forward, be happy, build a life for herself, find her inspiration. But, I saw her. I saw how worn out, how heartbroken she was. She did not mope though, she kept taking steps to build her life even with a broken heart. Have you ever been able to do that? This was...what? The second time she has had to do that in her life. Nobody, not even Raoul, when he came for her, could move her from the life she was trying to build. You remember that! She loves you, she wants you in her life. But, she is quite capable of building a happy life for herself should you choose to hurt her again and we will always welcome her and all her talents with open arms!” Meg’s right hand trembled slightly at the end of her charade. She had heard first hand from her friend what the man in front of her was capable of. But, to not say anything...for Christine. No, she could not do that.

He turned to Meg soaking in her words, slowly. His heart aching for Christine. He looked over at her, into the kitchen, where the door was slightly ajar. He saw her smiling and pouring tea. His love. His life. His light. It was not just him anymore. 

The young woman eyed him wearily and he met her eyes. “Thank you, for this, I appreciate your candor. Christine is everything to me. My last hope. My last light. I am nothing without her. I have seen how much I affect her. It was not something I was aware of. But, now...now I know.” 

Meg nodded, satisfied and sat down, just in time as Christine walked through the door. 

A peaceful, yet determined expression graced Christine’s features. It was not one he had seen on her face before and he was enthralled by the steel behind her eyes. 

She set the tea tray down and leaned over him slightly.  _ She wants a kiss!  _ He leaned up a little and allowed her to give a gentle peck to his lips, one that he reciprocated willingly albeit reservedly.  _ My Christine….kissing me in front of others.  _ The lingering thoughts that he was still a shame for her, something she meant to hide, was still a heavy cloud over him. But, her kissing him...in front of the people she cared about. It was not something he ever considered. 

Christine smiled at him before moving to serve him tea. He placed his hand over hers and stood, pulling out a chair for her before preparing tea for all the ladies at the table. He felt it was the right thing to do...so he acted on it. The ladies thanked him. But, as he went to hand Christine her tea and sit down beside her he saw that steely-eyed gaze darkening her eyes. She was reading the legal documents in front of Meg. 

“Are those the documents for the property?” 

“Yes, as well as Paris Law Information. These should tell us what rights we do and do not have in our current situation. It was smart of you, Christine, to encourage us to check these documents given recent...events.” Antoinette’s daughter replied. Erik’s need for control, his curiosity burrowed to the surface.

“I thought Raoul had said that the property belonged to you, alone. This was the information he had given me.” 

“Apparently not, him and his brother’s name are all over this.” Madame Giry responded. Erik kept quiet, feeling it wasn’t his place to say anything. 

“You guys are at risk of losing your livelihood and home because of me. I am so sorry.” Christine shook her head, bringing the tea cup close to her chest. At that, Erik spoke up. 

“What is the matter? What are you concerned about?” Erik inquired, trying to place as much concern into his voice as he was capable. 

Christine looked at him for a moment. A look of uncertainty crossing her face. It reminded him of how much brokenness was still between them that she hesitated to tell him the truth. He reached out his hand to hers, pulling it between his own. 

“I promise, I will do nothing without you wishing it. No more lies.”

“No more lies.” She echoed back, taking his hand in hers. He sat back into his seat, moving himself closer. 

“Raoul came about two mornings ago...to see me, to bring me back to the estate. We had an argument...a disagreement about the nature of our relationship. I told him I did not wish to marry him, plain and simple. I tried to make him understand what I was feeling without revealing...anything else. I feared his reaction, his retaliation. I have every reason to, especially with the way his brother talks into his ear. But, his arrival reminded me of...something else. When I began to withdraw from him, when he began to try and force affection from me, he had bought this studio for them in order to appease me. It was a way of getting me to fall into his arms, I believe. Not too long after, he would not allow me to come visit them. He said it was unbecoming to be seen with people from the Opera. His visit reminded me of the fact that he bought this place for them and what legal rights they had if Raoul or his brother were to try and take it back in retaliation for my ‘tainting’ the De Changy name by breaking our engagement and sneaking out.” 

Erik tried to remain calm but the underlying note in her voice and the way her eyes glossed over at the thought of the Vicomte trying to force affection from her made his skin crawl. Madness built on anger frothed at the edges of his mind.. It made him feel like blades were extending from his limbs. He rubbed his thumb over her hand. This was his fault. All of it. He needed to calm himself down, help make her feel better, it was the only way he could help. 

“As of this moment, it looks like my mother and I have  _ very  _ limited rights to this establishment and the earnings we make from operating our business here. Not to mention, given the limited legal rights of women in Paris.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. Erik thought for a moment. 

“I have caused both of you much trouble. I had found out that anyone affiliated with the Opera Ghost was relieved of duty once the new management came in. I did not want to cause any more harm by trying to change that. I was assured by Monsieur Khan that you were safe so I let it be. Allow me to offer a price to the DeChangy Estate for this property, anonymously, one they cannot refuse. Then, I will transfer the title directly into your names, documenting the transfer as a benefactor, allowing you to function as individuals protecting your property and only means of income. Please, let me make amends for any misfortune I have caused you.” 

Christine whipped her head towards Erik, tears watering her eyes. This Erik, this one right here, this was the man she fell in love with. The man she knew he could be. Was it her? Was it her love that gave him such bravery? 

Meg went to speak but Madame Giry raised her hand. 

“You have paid me well over the years for assisting you. I am not a woman who does not think ahead. I have invested the money and it has returned to me substantially. But, it is not enough to cover the costs of purchasing the building or the legal representation needed to do so. I will give you what I have and you may take care of the rest.” 

“Half, then. As a woman who thinks ahead, you will understand the importance of emergency funds.” 

Madame Giry stared at him for a moment, then smiled, and turned to Christine. 

“He is a hard man to argue against.” The older woman spoke languidly.

“Hmph. You should never have him as a maestro, then.” Christine turned to face Erik, smiling and nodding at his silent question. 

“How will we go about this, though?” Meg inquired, delighted to see the man her friend had fallen for. The mask was disconcerting….but what did it matter if they both love and respect one another?

“We are all here... we might as well see what Erik has in mind.” Christine responded, pride glittering across her body. All the ladies at the table turned to face him. Erik couldn’t help the expansive smile that curled mischievously across his face. 

☽ ☽ ☽

Christine looked up at the man leading her through the dark catacombs beneath Paris and felt a bloom of hope. She always had a feeling that Erik was capable of great things. Great compassion and kindness. She had seen glimpses of it in their time together, heard stories about it from Nadir, and just now...seeing him offer to secure her friends a home for all the trouble he put them through astounded her. She did not have to guide him into apologizing or making things right. He was actively trying...on his own...to make amends; shouldering the responsibility to build their relationship just as she was. She thought back to Raoul for a moment, how he had refused to see the err of his ways even when she said it to his face. She looked at Erik again, following the line of his throat up into his mask and the wide brimmed hat. When confronted with how she felt, how she felt wronged by him, he had admitted to what he did. He had explained his reasonings without blaming her. Had Raoul? No, he had ignored her...for the most part. Erik was not perfect, but at least he genuinely cared about her...saw her. 

Madame Giry warned Christine that in order to move forward they must let go of the past; whatever that may take. It was sound advice; albeit, one she was already aware of. It was how to go about it, how to make sure her and Erik were on the same page that was causing her stress. 

Something was still plaguing her...though. Why did he do what he did? How did he get to that point of madness that he almost murdered Nadir and Raoul? Was he the one who had killed Buquet? Why a torture chamber? She didn’t believe he would harm her or that it would ever come to anything like that again. But, as for the past, all she had was speculation and hearsay from Nadir. She wanted to hear it from his own lips. She just wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without making him feel like she was judging him. 

To be honest, she was glad they were returning to his home beneath the opera...where it was only them in the world. Maybe, progress would be easier without too much outside interference, where the judging voices of society couldn’t reach them. Her father once told her that she must move with the tides. She must follow the rhythm of things and only then will God open doors of opportunities. Once again, her father was there to aid her in all her troubles. She would speak to him when the time was right. With that in mind, she held onto his hand a little tighter.

On the walk back home, under the streets of Paris, Erik became slightly lost in his thoughts. He was aware that Christine had done the same. But, he was happy just holding onto his beloved’s hand. 

The afternoon and early evening in the home of Madame Giry went surprisingly...well. However, the cool look that was graced upon him by the ballet master left a lead stone in his stomach. He had hurt Christine, deeply, and he knew that wound was not yet fully healed. He would need to have patience, to not grovel at her feet for instant forgiveness. He would have to bear the guilt for however long it was necessary. To rush things would be to ignore her feelings. He would never do that again.

Although, one worry was burrowing at the forefront of his mind. He knew it was inane, but couldn’t help the anxiety that plagued him. He decided to voice his thoughts to Christine. 

“Christine, may I ask your opinion of something?” 

She startled at his inquiry. “Of course, Erik, always.” She smiled at him as he glanced at her. 

“Do you think Meg Giry saw my face this morning? She did not act as if she did.” 

Christine made a noise indicating she had heard him, but was thinking. 

“I do not think Meg would make a big deal out of it if she had. She told me before we left, as I gathered my things, that she was startled by your presence more than anything else this morning. But, I highly doubt she saw to begin with.” 

He cocked his head at her, his lips pressed together in confusion. “Why do you say that, my love?”

Christine blushed prettily under the call of her title. How could she tell him so plainly that in the night their positions had reversed? That he spent a better part of the night with his face resting on her breasts? His arms loosely around her waist? That she woke at dawn and watched him sleep, stroking his hair, before returning to morpheus with her arms still wrapped around him? How could she tell him? She feared his reaction. She worried that he would feel like he did something wrong, when he did not. 

“Christine?” He repeated, bringing her out of her thoughts. She would tell him the details tonight. 

“I do not believe she saw your face because you were pressed too tightly to me, and wrapped too much around me, and I you, to be seen by anyone else.” She squeezed his hand tighter and stepped closer to him, stroking his wrist with her other hand. 

Erik audibly gulped. “Oh.” He voiced, eyes a little  **too** focused on the path ahead. The pleased look on her face as she recounted whatever he did not remember, or barely did, halted any self-deprecating thoughts.  _ Why was this mask feeling heavier? _

☽ ☽ ☽

The placid mood that had enveloped them on their walk beneath Paris dissipated at Erik’s ‘doorstep.’ So many painful memories happened beyond this point and each had a fear that they would not make it past them. 

“Christine, I am sorry, my love, for everything.” The door was unlocked, open, but he wanted to remind her that he was truly sorry before the images of his home brought back terrible memories for her. 

_ She might flee once she enters….again. I would not be surprised.  _ Erik couldn’t help the doubtful thoughts and braced himself for it. 

“I know, Erik. I would not be here if I didn’t think you were.” She reached up and kissed his jaw. Christine wanted to make it a point to kiss his skin, him, and not the mask. She needed to impress on him her love was more than skin deep. Besides, his skin was soft anyway and his hands had always felt nice. 

She gathered her courage and walked forward, walking into his home like it was her own. 

She felt when he moved up behind her, his body too close for polite society, and intimate for lovers. Christine felt as he gently took her waist in his hands before dragging them up her body to pull the cloak from her shoulders, and pull it off her braided curls, before hanging it up. He towered over her and she loved the feeling of him so near. She turned slowly towards him and watched as he gracefully removed the cloak and hat from his person. Christine yearned to touch him, to feel his arms around her, to hear him whisper his love into her ear. 

His eyes met hers in that moment and she swallowed at the intensity of his stare; her mouth watering at the prospect of his kiss. He took her hips in his hands again, massaging over the thick layers of skirt as he dipped his head closer to her, nuzzling across her face with the nose of his mask before dragging his lips across her cheek. She turned her head towards him, chasing his lips in this slow dance. His mouth trailed away from her own. With impatience stirring her ardor, she placed her hand on his chest, the other on his waist, rubbing over his ribs with the heel of her palms. He grasped her waist with both hands to haul her closer to him and slip his face into the crook of her neck. She gasped at his forceful tug, at the languid touches he was gracing her with.  _ Erik. _ She murmured, lost in the spell he was weaving.  _ My angel.  _ She repeated quietly. He let out an audible exhale as he closed his wet lips over her neck, her pulse... _ when had he unbuttoned my collar?... _ her shoulder, her collarbone. His arm wrapped fully around her body as the other settled between her shoulder blades, tipping her back just slightly to increase the sucking pressure at her pulse. She mewled softly into his ear, grasping onto him for balance. He tightened his hold on her at the sound she made, and he was lost in her. Her body ached for him, for this. She never wanted it to end. As he laved attention into her neck, she felt the pressure of his arousal dimly against the fabric covering her thighs. A shiver shook through her.

He steadied her on her feet, drying her neck with soft sweeps of his lip as he dragged his mouth up to meet hers. She threw her arms around his neck, angling her head in a demand for more. He happily obliged and his brows furrowed with the intensity with which she kissed him. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, longing to dance his own over hers and she pressed herself more to him. The need for air pressed in on them and they slowed to catch it. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“What was that for?” She smiled dreamily, rubbing at the skin on his neck, his jaw, as the tip of her nose graced his lips. 

“I wished to provide you with a better memory than the one you left here with.” His response pulled her away from basking in his embrace and the heady warmth he had left simmering in her core. 

She raised her eyes to meet his and saw the hesitancy in him, the fear that he had gone a step too far. It brought tears to her eyes. He was  _ trying,  _ that's all she ever wanted. 

“Oh, Erik,” He let out a shuddering exhale, comforted by her sudden dive into his arms.

“The greatest gift you’ve ever given me is the privilege to hear your heartbeat.” He murmured a moment later. She curled herself closer to him, tightening their embrace. 

A knock at the door interrupted their lingering touches. 

“Monsieur Kahn.” Christine exhaled. Erik cocked his head at that, his blooming ardor draining swiftly. 

“Why would you guess that?” His curiosity was bounding at her quick and most likely correct assumption.

She gave him a look of annoyance, the same look she would bestow upon him when he would correct her for the same lyrical mistake; usually one they disagreed on.

“He is the only one who knows how to move past the alarms and traps, correct?” 

A sheepish expression crossed his face and his ears darkened. 

“Yes.” 

“Well...unless you have begun to receive packages down here, my love, my only guess would be that Nadir is the individual rapping at the door.” Her gentle wit endeared him. 

“Indeed.” Erik stepped forward, and opened the door, still smiling at Christine as he turned to face the individual who stood opposite him. 

Nadir’s face was weary as he saw Erik’s imposing figure fill the doorstep. It did not last but a moment, his expression shifting swiftly at the sight of a smiling Christine watching him. He moved around Erik to take Christine’s hands in his own with a great shout of “Mlle. Daaé, it is so nice to see you. I am so happy to see that Erik has come to his senses.” Christine leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, a more persian custom she became aware of in her reading. 

“Thank you, and we both did, accordingly.” She gave Nadir a calm smile, before looking to Erik who strode over to stand next to her. 

“You have fulfilled your purpose of checking up on me. We are happy. She is here willingly. You may leave now.” 

“Erik!” She turned to him, aghast at his behavior towards his guest. Although, she did find the kicked puppy look quite cute. 

“I have no idea what you speak of, brother. I came back for the remainder of the meal you cooked yesterday afternoon. Nadir strode passed them and into the kitchen. 

Christine giggled, a short ringing laugh that made Erik’s insides all wobbly. A sting of jealousy filled him. Nadir had made her laugh. She turned to him, placing her hand on his chest. He drew his gaze towards her.

“Is this how you two gentleman usually are?” She smiled at him, her eyes glittering with mirth. 

“Yes, Monsieur Khan can be quite vexing, treating me as some invalid.” 

“Oh, Erik. I don’t think he does that. It might just be the only way you allow him to show you he cares.” 

In a matter of moments, Christine had deduced the very nature of his relationship with his one and only friend. It astounded him how well she read him, knew him…. understood him. How well she understood him….that was something else he feared. How would he ever be able to reveal the truth, the violence, the blood that stained his hands? How would he ever face her? His atrocities don't stop at the events between the four of them. It had started far before. 

She laughed again, pulling him away from the storm of his inner thoughts. 

“You are awfully attractive when you are indignant, you know.” She rubbed her palm over his pectoral and it calmed him, while riling something else. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, letting out a sigh before kissing her cheek. 

“You are right. In more ways than one.” He went to say something else but was interrupted by the man in question. 

“Mlle Daaé, would you like us to prepare you anything for supper?” 

“That would be lovely. Erik?” She looked up at him. The release of tension, and the return to a stable state of mind had left him with the appetite of his youth. 

“I will help you.” 

“Ah! Wonderful!” Nadir replied. Christine stepped into the kitchen and was settled by the sight of the two men slightly bickering as they helped set the table, warm the tea and food. She was endeared by Erik pushing her chair in for her and the napkin his friend handed to her. 

_ Erik was not alone.  _

☽ ☽ ☽

Dinner went by peacefully with idle chatter filling the air. The lively discussion of wine, spices, and local events for the coming harvest illuminated the evening’s mood. Nadir had a quick wit that rivaled Erik’s and had an interesting way of subliminally getting under Erik’s skin without offending him. She wondered if Nadir’s stories were purposefully told incorrectly just to get Erik beside him to speak with some gusto. With each growing grin on the persian man’s face, she did not doubt it. 

Christine excused herself shortly after they had finished cleaning the kitchen to prepare herself for bed. As well, to give the gentleman a moment to speak before Nadir left. 

The room had fallen quiet as she stepped into her boudoir. It was only after she had walked through the door...as if the last time she had been here hadn’t been under the threat of mass murder...that she realized she had not braced herself for those returning memories. 

_ Patience, Christine. One step at a time.  _

Truth be told, she did not fear Erik. But, she wished to understand more what led Erik to make those decisions, to slip so far from composure. Christine did not want to be a victim of Erik’s volatile emotions for the rest of her life. 

She opened her armoire to find all her dresses draped in black georgette to protect them. Mourning cloth. He draped her dresses in mourning cloths… _oh! Erik!_ Tears welled in her eyes and if it weren’t for Nadir’s presence she would have run out there, underthings and all, to wrap her arms around him. Why hadn’t he just thrown them away if he thought she would never come back to him? She wondered. He made a promise to not follow her….to let her live with her Vicomte. Was he trying to remind himself that she wasn’t coming back? A physical reminder that she had chosen another? The room was clean, no dust to be found. But, it looked too clean, as if it had just been done up. If that were true it made more sense now….why he turned her away when she returned to him. It was to protect her from himself. This representation of him accepting her choice was another notch in her belief that they could move forward. _He really was trying. He had been trying….for far longer than he had reason to._

She placed a respectful nightdress and dressing gown over herself, sitting at her vanity to brush her hair. It was only when she tied her braid with a ribbon Erik had given her, still in the same little drawer, that she heard his strained voice. The hair on her neck rose to meet her alarm. She ran to the door. 

☽ ☽ ☽

“You did  **WHAT?** ” Erik exclaimed. 

“I-I thought you knew. I figured Christine made it clear when she returned to you.” Nadir stuttered out, hating himself for his mistake and worried over the gloom that darkened the eyes of the man before him. 

“Erik, what is the matter?!” Christine stepped out. Erik looked at her and turned his face away from her.  _ No! No! Why is he turning away?  _

“He told you everything.” Erik’s low and dangerous whisper sent a shiver up her spine. He could not pull away from her! Not their first night together in his home. Christine paused, the flickering light from the fireplace casting Erik in a menacing glow. She shivered….for many different reasons.

“Yes, he did. I demanded he do so.” She straightened her spine as she spoke, unwilling to deal with Erik’s reaction. She thought that he had known. Nadir’s passing comment about having been here the previous afternoon led her to assume it was Nadir who came to see him, who goaded him into finding her. It seemed a rather large detail was left out.  _ Christine knows!  _ Erik’s inner thoughts were tumultuous but in a sense, resigned. It seemed the job of telling her the horrors that came at his hands was done for him.  _ She’s going to leave. _ He thought to himself. 

“Why?” He sounded so agonized. He refused to look away from the floor. 

Christine was not going to let him pity himself. They needed to build forward. 

“Why?! I was coming back to you. I wanted to know who Erik really was beyond all the violence and madness. I had only seen glimpses. But, my feelings for you had been stepped on and squashed by Raoul, by you, before I could even figure them out. I wanted answers. Because...because if I were to condemn myself to a life with Raoul, without you, without music, I would rather not hate you in my ignorance. Not when you meant so much to me, not when your actions hurt me so. Nadir almost did not. It took a little...coaxing to get him to answer my questions.” 

Nadir snorted. “She yelled at me.” Erik laughed, humorlessly, his voice shaking. His Christine, such an amazing woman. 

“Her voice had a great amount of conviction in it. I feared what denying her would cause.” 

“What would you have done? Had the good Daroga here refused to acquiesce to your request?” Erik finally turned to her, ignoring the man beside him. 

Christine paused for a moment, thinking, looking down. “I would have most likely waited, gone to the park or to my father’s grave to think, away from others. But, would have come back, regardless. Asked you myself.” Christine shrugged her shoulders. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable and she became absorbed in her self-consciousness. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of long arms coiling around her, a hand in her hair tilting her head up, the other pressing her to a graceful torso. 

“I am a monster. I do not understand why you love me as you do. But, I am learning swiftly that you do.” He let out a breath. 

“You truly love me.” He stated, breathlessly. She nodded and hid her face in the crook of his neck as she pulled him closer. Nadir smiled. His friend had found acceptance, at last. He watched them for a moment, as Christine peered up at Erik, her hands on his chest. His eyes visibly softening under her gaze, his entire body settling as she pushed up on her toes to meet his lips. It was a romantic moment. One he never thought he would see Erik experience. A fierce blush covered Nadir. It was time for him to go. They were alright. 

“I am tired, old friend. I am going to head home.” He patted his friend on the back as he walked past, grabbing his coat off the rack. 

He did not look back. He did not notice the smile that graced Erik’s lips as he gazed at him, or the way Christine stood by him and rubbed his side. 

“I shall see you in a few days, then, for our usual game of Nardshir?” Erik questioned. Nadir turned around as he placed his hat upon his head, surprised. This was a way of Erik saying he was not angry. Before, if he was upset at Nadir’s nagging, he would lock his door, refuse to answer, and not speak to him for weeks. 

“Ah, but not our usual game, habibi. We will have another opponent.” He gestured to Christine. 

“And she will be happy to do battle with you, gentleman.” Christine responded with a smile, her hand in the crook of Erik’s elbow. 

They laughed and parted ways. Nadir will never forget the sight of Christine looking up at Erik with a smile and Erik’s own to match.

☽ ☽ ☽

Erik did not break eye contact from her as she gazed at him, choosing instead to rub his thumb over her cheek as he cradled her head in his palms. She nuzzled into him. 

“Let’s go to bed, Erik.” She whispered, lost in his loving gaze, his touch. The pull of desire, of sleep, of warmth soothed the tense muscles in her back and made her eyes heavy. He still felt the need to explain himself, to clarify, answer her questions about his past. But, he knew it was better not to push things. She had already accepted him, confessed her love to him. For now, that was enough.

He nodded and took her hand to lead her into the room, realizing how cold it was in here. 

“I shall start a fire.” She nodded and stepped away from him to organize her vanity from where she had left it. 

Within a few minutes, a low fire had started, enough to warm the room but not disturb sleep. Erik stalked towards her, her eyes glowing brightly as she watched him. He pulled the sheets back and helped her remove her dressing gown. His eyes dilating at the sight of her form outlined by the fire in the hearth, his member tightening. 

“I will be back. I am just going to change.” He held her waist at his side, kissing her lips, before stepping away to gather his nightclothes.. She responded slowly. A nod as she slipped under the covers. 

He returned in dark rose-colored silk pajamas that left his lean charms on display. She flushed beneath the covers, her breasts pebbling at the sight of him in the firelight. The image of Erik, earlier, standing before the fire with the light flickering menacingly over him flooded her mind and an ache sweltered between her legs. 

He hesitated before stepping to the bed. He would have to remove the mask. Amidst Nadir’s arrival and the short bout of trouble that ensued, the weightlessness, its necessity had returned. But, now, it was suddenly heavy. 

Christine saw the trepidation in his eyes. She pulled the covers off her and moved herself towards the center. 

“Come, my love, let’s sleep, your eyes are tired.” Her gentle encouragement, her awareness of him, allowed the mask to turn to lead in his hands and made it ever the more easier to place on the nightstand.

In an attempt to fight the rising anxiety and conceal his face, he kissed her as he slipped beside her, covering them both. Her cold little hands braced against his chest, worming their way under the open buttons at the top of his silk shirt to caress his chest, giving him no reprieve when the other dragged across his cheek to slip into his hair.

He began to place wet, open-mouth kisses along the soft swell of her breast, following them up the line of her neck. She arched into him, her thumb tracing the curve of his ear and following his hair down to massage the skin on the back of his neck. Wandering hands moved under her chemise to settle on her lower back. 

“Is this alright, my beloved?” He murmured into her skin. 

She shook a little as her form relaxed into the bed and his embrace. “Yes,” she consented, feeling the pull of sleep in her body, feeling it in his in the way he languidly touched her. She snuggled closer to him, throwing her leg over his hip and bringing her face level with his. He rose to kiss her, staring into her eyes before doing so. The push and pull of their mouths against each other neither aroused nor calmed. It was something reminiscent of a loving confession with neither truly wanting to go beyond just enjoying the presence of the other. He pulled away sensing her exhaustion, both physical and emotional, for it was the same exhaustion that pulled at his eyes and weighted his muscles. 

He buried his face into her neck, breathing her in and closing his eyes, her arms wrapped around him as they lay amidst the sheets. Erik’s body nestled slightly atop hers.

“This is how we were lying this morning when Meg walked in on us….I had awoken in the middle of the night and watched you sleep for a little while, noticing our change in position, and fell back asleep shortly after, content in your arms.” She whispered to him, a breathy sound laced with love and desire. Erik softly kissed her throat, holding her tightly to him. 

“My Christine…” he murmured. 

“Yours, Erik…”

_ Another night in her arms, one of many. _ He thought to himself. The confidence in that thought startled him, but he was believing it more and more with each passing moment. As she fell asleep, Christine realized that she had not felt this safe in an embrace for a very long time. 

  
  



	8. Mezzoforte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy it.

Erik felt himself in a pool of warm darkness. A comfort he wasn’t familiar with. The decadence of sleep.

Erik rose to consciousness to the flaking croak of the hearth and realized why his slumber had been filled with warm ink. Christine, with her mass of brown curls, was cuddled against his side. Her hair had broken from the plait she had placed it in for bed, the tie lost amongst the sheets. The long slope of her leg was hitched up against his hip, her nightgown high on her thigh and her arm thrown carelessly around his shoulder. 

He watched her, endeared to this peaceful moment of being allowed to see her rest. He chuckled softly to himself at the slight part of her lips and the gentle snore that emanated from her. 

He felt guilty to say that he had never seen her sleep like this. The few times he had checked on her while he was just her Angel of Music, she always had slept so rigid and curled into herself. 

Erik felt the pull of sleep ride heavy in his eyelids and relaxed back into the embrace of his beloved, basking in the knowledge that this was not a dream. 

☽☽☽

Christine was lost in a faded dream. A washed out painting of watered ink and muted tones. But, then, music filled that space and suddenly everything dim was filled with colors and patterns. It was there that Erik stood, smiling at her in a way only Erik could and suddenly she was in his arms. 

Her eyes flashed in alertness as she woke happy and surprised to find herself once again in his arms. Erik was her love, but being with him felt like something comforting, like being near a friend. 

Yet, Erik stood at the border between the dim and the bright. The allowed and the forbidden. Desire and Denial. 

Christine had always seen Erik as the forbidden fruit. She knew he represented something important about her future but up until recently did she not know what it was. 

There was something about Erik that always had Christine inclined to abandon all rational thought and give into what  _ she _ wanted, everyone else be damned. 

It was something he taught her. It was something he had scolded her for in the past….for letting others into her head. 

She now realized it was a warning. A lesson he himself had yet to learn….

Christine gazed upon Erik’s sleeping face, placing soft kisses to his neck as she let the swirls of his scars lull her into morpheus’ arms.

☽☽☽

Erik woke against plush softness and warmth. His eyes, warm and dry from sleep, blinked open to discover what was brushing against his lips. 

Something stirred inside Erik at the realization that he and Christine were wrapped around each other. She was cradling him; his face tucked into her neck and her arms resting against his back. He gained stock of his limbs, careful not to wake her as he pressed closer to her. Erik inhaled the scent of her with its rosewater and lilac, arousal flaring through him. 

He opened his mouth slowly, letting the arch of her neck rest under his thin lips as he pulled sipping kisses away from her body. Erik could feel it in his hands, it was an itch, a hedonistic gluttonous desire to feel her writhe beneath him, to show her how much he loved her. He cupped her neck with his other hand, pressing his mouth harder towards her flesh as he laved his tongue over her skin. 

Christine let out a sleepy moan and tugged him closer. He paused, realizing what he was doing and watched as Christine merely reacted to him in her sleep. Erik smiled to himself, happy to slowly wake her with his attentions. 

He was in no rush as he renewed his sucking at her throat and reveled in the sudden arch of her back as she moaned into him, rising to alertness. “Erik!” She gasped, threading her hands into his hair. 

“Good Morning, my love.” He wove his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck, whispering while pulling gently to allow more space for his tongue and teeth to roam over. 

Her nails raked over his shoulders as she clamored to bring him closer. He liked this position. He could hide his face from her and still pleasure her. 

There was a fear…. that even in the dim light she would see something she wouldn't want to see. As much as he loved her, the fear of her rejection still lodged itself at the base of his spine. It plagued him and almost distracted him. He knew, consciously, she had accepted him, but that innate fear was not so easily forgotten. Erik breathed in as he marked Christine’s neck with his lips and teeth. The flow of oxygen battled against his pursuit of her skin.

He ignored it, choosing to listen and follow the throbbing in his nightclothes. She gasped in his ear as he suckled harshly at the flesh over her neck. She let out a cry, parting her legs and allowing him to slip his body between them. 

Christine tugged at his hair, whining his name in a plea for more. Erik gasped at the sensation and bucked against her, his body reacting before he could think.

His attention moved up her jaw, cupping the back of her head and angling her lips toward him in a kiss. Erik waited not a moment before slipping his tongue inside to entice her. 

In an action that would have brought Erik to his knees if he were standing, Christine moaned loudly into his mouth, pressing herself more into his kiss. He suckled gently at her tongue, pulling away in interest of feeling her lips. 

Christine’s soft noises of pleasure forbade him from thinking that his actions were anything less than pleasing. He ground himself against her once again and the music in her throat loudened, her leg rising to crescendo over his hip. 

A soft growl escaped him as his hands wandered up her smooth arms to enfold their hands together above their heads. Christine’s sharp gasp pulled him back to reality and he watched as her chest rose and her eyes dilated. 

She squeezed his hands, pushing up to try and reach him. It was a moment where time slowed and everything he cared about in the world rested in her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, the arch of her nose, her eyes and the skin below them, over her cheeks and across her jaw. Christine moved to meet his lips, chasing them as they wandered. He gave in, pressing his mouth to hers.

His hand slipped down her palms, over her wrists and forearms as he placed kisses over her body. Christine felt overwrought in sensation. Erik had afforded her no time to grasp anything else but the sensation of his touch. He was gluttonous in his pursuit of her and she enjoyed waking up to his affections. 

The weight of his hands in hers, trapping her against the bed sheets, sent a jolt of arousal to her core and she could feel it start to pool in her drawers. She mewled his name in frustration, squirming as he placed achingly slow kisses down her body. His hands wrapped around her shoulders before they slipped under her torso and his thumbs rubbed the delicate side of her breasts as he looked upon her in wonder. 

“Erik, please….” She murmured, allowing herself to succumb to the flood of instinct as she arched her breasts towards him, wanting more from the man she loved. Erik peered up at her in awed fascination, like a starving man with suddenly too much food. 

Staring into her eyes, those sapphire orbs of hers which could trap any man, he lowered her torso to the bed and moved his hands over her breasts. 

Sensation rushed over her at his dedicated ministrations. Her hands rested above her as she gasped. Turning her face into the pillow, she made an effort to release the energy building inside her. 

His thumbs caught her nipples through the fabric, flicking them in experimentation. Arousal coursed through him, the length between his legs throbbed and caused his breath to hitch. She arched further into his palms, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she tore at the sheets below them. 

In an attempt to engage with Erik instead of merely falling prey to his touch, she lifted her head. But, failed at the sight of his hair falling over his eyes. Trapped by the stare of those golden orbs blown wide with heat and the image of his mouth parted as he pants.

She wanted to feel his hands on her skin. She wanted it more than anything.

“Erik….” she whimpered out, “I-I want to feel your hands….” He presses his thumbs into the tips of her breasts in response, unmoving to acquiesce to her request….”Please!” She cried out one final time and heard the soft growl emanate from the man above her. His hands float down the sides of her body to run back up underneath her nightdress. 

She followed his silent command and left her hands above her head. Without restraint, she allowed him to explore her and wondered if this was his way of confirming her feelings for him. She knew that it was still difficult to allow himself to be felt. But, she couldn’t find it in herself to complain when he was so avidly pursuing her form. 

His fingers danced over her belly and the soft roundness on her sides, pressing gently into her flesh, rubbing his thumbs over the underside of her breasts. 

But, suddenly, his hands were wrapping over those mounds, pressing into them and rubbing the ache away from the sensitive tissues. She moaned this time, enticing less hesitancy from him as he takes her hard peaks between his fingers tugging at them, waiting for her response. 

“Christine, such softness….” He trailed.

Christine arched into his fingers as the fabric was torn from her form, their fingers entwined as he pressed them into the bed. What she knew next was the sensation of his mouth as he descended to her chest, taking those aching peaks into his mouth. 

For a moment, Erik felt guilty for his loss of control, for binding her hands with his. But, he needed to. He wanted to show her how much he cares. He desired nothing more than to focus solely on her response to him.

Was this not selfish, too? To gorge himself on her reactions? He couldn’t find it in himself, the will to care, when she was moving in waves against his lips. He tried to take as much of her into his mouth as he could, feeling the soft weight of her breast as he suckled, letting his tongue drag across the turgid peak.

“Erik, my love….oh!---that feels so good….” Christine struggled to get her words out.

Releasing her breast from his mouth, he exchanged it for the other before tracing kisses down her body. His mouth came upon the flesh above her hips and paused there, marking her skin from hip to hip, He reveled in her fingers pressing into his scalp as he nipped at the flesh below her navel.

She cupped his cheek, her thumb pressing into the tissue of his face and all its mangledness. He peered up at her, both of them lost in the experience and then, they know, that their entire world sat in the span of their bed. 

Lips and tongue travelled south as his thumbs hooked over her drawers, pulling them away from her body. She waits on baited breath for the self-consciousness to arrive at being so exposed to a man. But, the way he held her stopped any such feeling from passing over her. 

His eyes never left her as he does this. His hands ran up her legs and brought them over his shoulders, cupping her hips as his thumbs pressed into the flesh beneath her thatch of curls. She never expected that part of her to be so sensitive but moaned at the eroticism of the sensation. It’s a wet mouth she felt next, dragging up her thighs before placing a kiss over her center. 

Erik felt as her body went still. The wetness of her arousal was a tease against his lips filling him with exhilaration. He plunged his tongue into her and it is a cry of pleasured agony that reached his ears, her body twitching under him as his tongue runs between her lips, catching her clit. 

The love he felt as Christine’s hands wandered over him causes his arousal to throb. The soft cries above him came in waves, and each one caused her body to coil like a cinch. Her arms have fallen above her as succumbs to the pressure he places against her clit. 

He grasps at her breast, pushing her legs to bend at the knee and allow him more room. Two agile fingers press into her, curling to find that spot he hopes will induce more pleasure.

A loud cry of his name reached him, the tensing in her thighs against his shoulders offer comfort like a weighted blanket. His name is a chant on her lips and the ever present stream of sounds goad him on. He stroked at that textured flesh inside her and suckled at her clit. 

It is the only time he is happy to not have a nose. It is freeing to watch her hips move against his mouth, to see his passionate Christine finally give into herself. A heady moan and the rapid fall of her chest, her breasts moving reminds him of the ache between his legs and he cant help but grind himself against the sheets as his fingers gently piston into her. 

His name, broken and filled with gasps and cries urges him to quicken his attention. His love is close and he wants her to fall, to give into her desires. Suddenly, her thighs are pressed against his head, her torso arching upwards in a bow and loud rolling moans escaping her, some resembling his name. It is more than just joy that floods through him hearing and feeling her come around him. It is heaven itself. He slows his touches but never ceases, wanting his angel to fall softly back to earth.

He is throbbing, but he ignores it, choosing to enjoy the applause of quiet moans he receives. She called for him, his name a soft coo on petal lips and he rose to settle himself between her warm legs.

Through every touch, through every moment of pleasure she could feel his love. His desire for her, to make her happy, to care for her, to be with her.

His Christine appeared dazed and tired, panting as she cup his face. She is not gentle in her touches. Christine wanted him to know he is felt, he is loved, he is wanted. She pressed her thumbs into his cheeks, over his cheekbones and along the deep sockets of his eyes. Her fingers traced the broken nose bridge and then scratch into his hair. He moaned into her and brought his knees up under him so he did not settle all his weight against her. He pressed himself into her hands as she dragged them over his throat, and cupped his jaw as her fingers pressed into his lips. 

Christine feels his arousal against her. The weight of it, a pulse against her core. She pulled him closer. It aroused her to realize he is still dressed in his nightclothes, while she is naked. It stirred something vastly powerful. He tucked his face against her throat moaning in a needy way as she used her feet to pull him against her center. She is hot and wet and it is seeping into his silks. He moved against her, asking for permission. Christine gasped into his ear, her hips undulating in consent as her fingers thread into his hair.

He can’t help the noises that fall from his lips. She is searing. His hands travelled down to slip beneath them and cup her rear, forcing her hips closer to him so he may find his pleasure. 

She reveled in being able to focus on the sounds of his pleasure, on him bringing her closer so he could feel her. Her name is a chant in her ear and the moments between are filled with words in foreign tongues. 

He is so lost and she can feel it in the way his thickness moves against her. He isn’t focused on his face, on his past, on nothing... but them. The slide of his groin against her, of the fabric rubbing against her clit, is overwhelming. 

“Erik….” she whines, unable to stop herself, “....harder.” 

Erik isn’t sure he exists, his entire world of focus rests where his body meets Christine’s and the will of her command. He clutched at the flesh as he pressed his arousal harder against her. Her hands tug harshly at his hair and claw at his back and he can’t help the desperate pleas of her name that leave him. His love, his perfect darling, called back with his own name and with that he is lost. The final drag and rough press of his groin against her tips them over the edge, her legs a cage around his lower body. She groaned softly as they relaxed, pulling his earlobe into her mouth as she kissed the side of his face. 

“Christine….” he sang. “You are exquisite, my angel.” 

Christine hums in response, basking in his praise. It is there that her mind clears of the fog of desire. She is naked. Erik is locked against her. There is absolutely no propriety. She is not married to the man with whom she has just been intimate with. 

She doesn’t care. 

She does, however, care about being cold. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin. She snuggled into Erik, into the warmth trapped between their bodies. 

Erik noticed this, but is unwilling to part from her just yet. He threw the blanket across them, keeping it in his hands to wrap her up. 

“Thank you.” She whispered. Erik is so close to her that as she spoke her lips brushed up against his. This kiss is slow, sensual, untainted by the pursuit of anything but a kiss. 

“Good Morning.” She whispered into him, her lips parted and eyes closed as her hands rubbed circles into his skin. 

She opened her eyes slowly, letting her fingers dance over all the scars and lines. She lingered there, an attempt to memorize every scar and line that decorate his visage. He is still and she wonders what his thoughts are. 

“What are you thinking of, Erik?” His eyes open at that, hooded and stimulated from their nearness.

“At the moment, my dear, nothing.” 

Christine smiled and let out a light laugh at that, kissing the space above his top lip.  _ Good.  _ She thought.  _ Erik needs to stop thinking every once in a while.  _

“Did I do that?” She flirts through a whisper. 

“Absolutely.” She finally heard as he caught his breath and sighed into the steady rhythm of his heart. 

☽☽☽

The rest of the morning is spent with only spare moments of absence from the other. He helped her dress-- a sage blouse tucked into a skirt of the matching color, forgoing the bustle. She removed the tie and mask from his hands and buttoned his vest for him. Erik took it as a sign she did not wish for him to be in the mask. 

Buttoning his vest for him, left a warm feeling in her arms where his hands held her elbows. She would think him a working man if it weren't for the fine fabric which dressed their forms. She tugged on him, pulling him down for a kiss that reminded her of melted chocolate. 

Erik was in a trance the entire morning. There was still so much to fix, so many things that had changed. Yet, he found himself once again hypnotized by the trail of her skirt or the hint of her perfume in the air. 

The morning was filled with making breakfast together, with what little groceries Erik had. She could tell it bothered Erik. 

“I had no way of knowing….If I knew you would have been with me I would have gotten all the things you like.” He looked downcast at the stove. They had cut up some cheese and apples with the eggs that were left. It was a wonderful meal to her, especially since the chorus girls and ballet rats hardly got such treats, unless it was from patrons. Even then….at what cost? 

“It is just something we can do together. Do not worry, Erik. I look forward to our next adventure.” 

While they ate, Christine retrieved a pen and paper from the library, preparing a list for them. Erik told her to add whatever she pleased when he noticed her counting. 

“Money is no issue, beloved.” 

Christine raised her eyes to him, setting the piece of cheese in her hand down, and leaning into her chair.

“I had always suspected. But, never assumed your wealth. How….if i may ask…. did you come to be so?” She felt intrusive and awkward asking the question. It did not matter to her, really. She loved Erik for how he connected and listened to her, for his passion for music, his love for books and culture. Money left a bad taste in her mouth from the years traveling with her father and then afterwards.

Erik thought for a moment. He did not necessarily fear telling Christine the truth, but it was not the most savory of stories. 

“When I escaped Persia, I had left with a bag of stolen jewels. The profit from that allowed me to invest. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, watching the patterns for best profit was not a difficult feat.” 

Christine nodded her head, unsure how to proceed. It was not her money to spend. 

Erik noticed Christine fall into her own thoughts, the soft crinkle over her brow his only indication that something had vexed her. 

“Christine?” He spoke softly, using the softer tones of his voice to gain her attention. 

She shook herself off and rose in her seat. 

“It is not my money to spend, Erik. I--” She didn’t know what else to say, frustrated at her sudden lack of ability to express her thoughts. Maybe, it was because she hated the power money had. Maybe, it was because she never wanted it to come between them. Maybe, she didn’t want his wealth to be hung over her head like Raoul’s was. Erik would never do that. But, the fact was, still, that for all intent and purposes….she had nothing to call her own; that frustrated her. Immensely. 

Erik saw her eyes dim with sadness and he rose to comfort her. Kneeling at her side, he gazed up at her. His fingers laced through her own as he patted them gently. 

“Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, my love, my angel. There is no purpose for it without you here. You are free to do as you please, to seek your comfort, whatever you have been denied.” 

Tears welled up in her eyes. Erik was giving her everything, anything to make her comfortable. She believed it was a part of his way of earning her absolution, but that wasn't it. 

Everything in her life had always been upended, unstable, uncertainty rang more often at her doorstep than anything else. It was only second to death. She voiced this to Erik. Her voice shook with shame and guilt. 

“None of it is mine, Erik. I have not earned it. I am dependent and subject to the will of those who are seen as my guardian. It is not you I fear, Erik. I don't want you to think that.” She rubbed his hand as if trying to calm herself through his skin. “...It is the fear itself. I don’t know what I would have done without the position in the chorus after Mama Valerius passed. Where would I have gone? With Raoul, I was constantly reminded I was nothing more than a performer, a dredge to society with no name or dowry. It terrifies me, Erik.” 

She pauses, her breathing shaking.

“I did not know this plagued you, so.” Erik scolded himself for neglecting to notice something that should have been obvious. He knew that feeling of being trapped, of something keeping you in the place society had deemed for you. He knew it all too well. 

“I am sorry to have accosted you with this, Erik. It was not my intention.” 

Erik whipped his head towards her. 

“I am here, Christine, for you. I know I have not been a source of stability for you, either. That fault is my own. But, I wish….I want to be that for you. I want you to trust me with your thoughts. They were often the very thing I longed to hear.” 

Christine smiled through her tears, taking his broken face into her hands as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you, Erik. Thank you.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, soothing her with the press of his fingers. Despite her fears, she had still left the security of Raoul to come back to him. It softened the knot in his spine that still doubted her love for him. 

He patted her back and pulled from their embrace. A question filled her eyes and he smiled at the pout there. She gripped the fabric of his collar, to keep him from pulling away. 

“You once told me that you wished the chorus girls and ballet dancers were paid wages that offered more than the temptation of imbibement. Let me give that to you. All those years working here, for all the terror I caused. Let me give you what you should have been earning. It will be yours alone, a security. An insurance for you. You are never obligated to me, Christine. I will still take care of you. But, I don’t want you to live in cautious fear. Please, Christine.” 

He wanted her to accept. He wanted her to know that he desired her here only of her own volition and not under the duress he had put her in before. 

She nodded her head vigorously, tilting her head towards him and cupping his cheeks as their lips met. Hope bloomed in her belly. Yet, the weight did not lift from her back….she wondered why. But, ignored it in pursuit of his kiss. 

☽☽☽

The quiet intimacy of their morning together lingered in the air deep into the afternoon. They had spent time together playing chess, exchanging ideas and thoughts with ease.

It was only when she rose for a glass of water, that she felt something drop like a stone in her gut. The hallway was dark, between the parlour and kitchen. Dark and Empty. 

She proceeded, ignoring the break in her stride, and filled the glass. She shook her hands of their sudden weakness. The water spilled from the too large gulp and she wiped it with the back of her hand. The counter braced against her hands. 

Christine set the glass down, ignoring the sudden burst of anxiety. She turned to face the dark hallway, lit by a single candle on the console table. Why was she suddenly having trouble? What was this feeling of dread? It echoed around her like tendrils. 

She pushed herself through, knowing Erik would be waiting for her. The thought brought her comfort and steeled her. His profile lit by the fire in the hearth brought a smile to her face as she gazed at him from the doorframe. 

The echoing cackle of his manic laughter echoed through his ears. The memory of the return of the torturer. 

_ The grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high! _

She paused, freezing in her step, again. What was that? Why did she see that? Her chest grew tight.

Christine brought her hand to her head, feeling for a fever. She found none. 

She wasn’t sure if that was comforting. Perhaps, she was just tired. She couldn’t help random thoughts. L'appel du vide, if you will. It didn’t matter. 

She walked up beside Erik, kissing his forehead, and leaned into him for a moment before taking a seat in the spot beside him. 

☽☽☽

It was early in the evening now. Christine had been reading for a while and Erik had risen about an hour ago to work on some music at the organ.

He didn’t want to crowd her. Even as desperate as he was for her presence, he, too, felt that some time alone would be good.He was glad for it. The cool touch of the ivory key was like a balm to his skin. 

He felt pressured about the state with which Christine and him resided. Where do they go from here? Something was telling him to act quick, to bind her to him in marriage so that she may never leave. But, his instincts fought hard against those thoughts. Those were the thoughts of a mad man. He was no longer that. No longer the man desperate and clinging to sanity. He would allow things to naturally unfurl. Maybe one day, in the far future, when the memories of their past were distant, would he ask her for her hand. Regardless, with or without him, he wanted Christine happy. 

☽☽☽

Christine had been fidgeting for a better part of the hour Erik had been gone. The thump of her heartbeat steadily rising with each passing moment. Everything had been fine....til late in the afternoon.

It was only when Christine dropped a cup, her hands beginning to shake shortly after, did she realize things may not have been as ok as she hoped. 

The languid feeling in her body that stemmed from their early morning intimacy had dissolved into tension. 

The door, which could barely be seen from the library, seemed to thump like a heartbeat in the corner of her eye.

Christine didn’t dare ask herself what had caused the shift in attitude. She knew. It was that door. She knew it was there. She knew what was beyond that door.  _ Torture Chamber.  _ There! She said it to herself. 

The calm thoughts she once had of Erik’s violent past steamrolled into her mind with the force of a locomotive.

Had Erik killed Joseph Buquet? Would he truly have blown up the Opera? Would he have forced her down here to spend her life in misery? 

Where did Erik stop and the madness take over? Was it still within him? Would he be able to handle disagreements with her in the future, like a normal couple would? 

Panic began to set in, her chest tightening. She could hear the deep thump of her heartbeat in her throat. She tried to swallow it all down. But, the shaking had become so severe that her book slipped out of her hand. The slam of it against the floor was dulled by the sound of an E major chord. 

She thought she was passed all this. She felt so safe last night, so happy, so comforted. 

_ Maybe, you didn’t have the time to fully take in being here.  _

Was all that she was feeling wrong? For Erik? For being here? 

No! No! She loved Erik. She wanted him. He made her so happy. She just couldn’t shake this feeling that something was wrong.

Too many times. Too many times had she seen the faces of her friends’ return colored by the violence of a new beau, or see their eyes go dim, the life drained from them. She did not want that to be her. Erik was capable of violence. But, would he ever act on it with her. How could she answer that question with more than the faith in gut instinct when she had seen it happen? True, he never laid a hand on her to harm. But, it did not mean that his actions did not hurt, did not have impact.

Her Father never behaved in such a way. Never raised his voice at her. 

Her Father had never gone through what Erik had gone through, either. Could whatever she had meant to him really cause him to go mad? Was it really Erik who consciously did all those things or did he just let it happen? 

She felt both rational and irrational at the same time. She hated the atrociousness of her thoughts and her fears. But, they were there. What was she to do with them? When had emotions ever made sense? 

The bond between her and Erik was there. They were made of something similar, perhaps the same distant star. If she had never returned to Erik, she knew she would have spent the rest of her life dreaming of him. Even when her feelings were uncertain, when that thought frightened her, she still understood it to be true. 

She stood up, shaking her head and trying to shake her thoughts. She released her hair from its loose coiffure, wishing it was Erik’s hands rubbing the tension away from her temples.

Christine walked toward the music, letting it carry her to Erik’s side. She wondered why she was reacting so badly, when standing at his side made her feel like she had been found? Was it him that plagued her or the trauma of the past?

The music’s dynamic changed.  _ Sotto voce,  _ she mouthed. The tones of his song filled the air with a languid taste, like morning dew in the fall, or the taste of blossoms on an evening in spring. It brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to feel this way. 

“Angel…,” she called softly and to her excitement he turned. His eyes looked brighter than usual, and she wondered if he was fighting back tears. “....may I sit with you?” 

“Always.” His voice was subdued like the music. She took the spot next to him, pressing as close as she could without disturbing his playing. She could feel the press of his thigh against her skirts, and leaned her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he changed keys to better suit their position. 

The music calmed her more than anything. It painted her mind with pictures of everything that brought joy to her heart. Before, it was moving pictures of her mother and father. Then, of Raoul, Mama Valerius, Meg, and now Erik. 

It was instinct to Christine to ignore things until it came to head. But, those were old habits. Bad habits that would only make her feel more anxious later than the small reprieve it gave in the moment. She knew of Erik’s violent past. Nadir had spared nothing in his story. Yet, to see him come so far to just return to such brutality, terrified her. Would it happen again? Even with the progress he’s made?

But, the sense of anxiety was growing. She couldn’t raise her head for fear of acknowledging that door, of those images flooding her mind. She didn’t want to be a victim to Erik's Volatile emotions all her life, so why was she succumbing to her own? 

She hated herself for not being able to let go of those memories, those sounds. She hated that the mad visage of Erik still imprinted itself into her mind. 

She felt like she was taut across a bow string. Unable to yield, to move, to make a sound without fear of something snapping. She couldn’t understand why it was all jittering at once. She did not feel this with him last night or this morning. She did not feel this over dinner with Nadir. 

Nadir! Nadir was able to move past all this! Why couldn’t  _ she _ just move on from it too? Why was she still lingering on this? 

She knew what lay beyond that door. She knew the violence which Erik was capable of. Yet, she knew how much love he was capable of. How much kindness. He stayed away from her because he feared his mere presence would taint her. He never forced himself on her. He had so many chances. WHY WAS SHE STILL DOUBTING? STILL FEELING THIS WAY? 

The day she left to find The Daroga, her head filled with nothing but thoughts of love, had she really been so startled by her love for Erk, how much she missed him that she pushed down these concerns with such naivety? 

The thoughts that filled her head drowned out the music that her love was dedicating to her. She knew, then, that if even his music could be drowned out by her worries, then this was affecting her more than she realized.

“Erik?” She asked, hesitantly. Dread and disaster causing bile to rise in her throat. Her hands curled around his arm, tethering her to him, and breaking the cloud of languid music. “What happened?” She didn’t meet his eyes when they fell to her.

The way his body tensed let her know that he knew exactly what she was referring to. She nosed gently at his shoulder, cuddling into him, holding his waist. Her eyes locked on to the door in the hallway, unable to forget the sounds of the screams she once heard emanate from there. They echoed through the house like ghosts now. 

Erik stared into the keyboard as if it were a looking glass. His hand came up to his face as if to feel a mask which wasn’t there. 

“I lost you, Christine. You were my one and only hope that I would know love. I had thought I had seen love there, once, in your eyes. But, nothing seemed to ever work out for us. Raoul came and I knew I had lost. I never wanted to hurt you, to steal you. But, how could I ever step out of the shadows when he walked in the light? I gave up, Christine. If all I was going to be seen as was a monster, why not act like it? Why did it matter if everyone, even you, was seeing me as a monster, regardless of how ‘well I behaved’ as Nadir puts it. Why shouldn’t I show everyone how it was to live as me? Trapped in the sewers like a rat. Not to know light or love. I was always a monster with a face like this. So why should I try? It became too much. I gave into my desperation, into the madness. I let myself wallow in my despair. I was just waiting for one of you to take me down. Let me drown in the river, or let a bullet be shot through me. It would have been easier to die as the villain.” She breathed unsteadily, horror filling her at his words. 

“Why a torture chamber to begin with, Erik? Why build something like that?” She asked desperately, clinging to his arm. She heard a sob flutter through him, felt his body shake under its force.

“I was paranoid when I left Persia. I feared for my life at every turn. I did not know if they would follow me. I held many secrets, and had crossed too many people in pursuit of some form of misguided acceptance. It eased the paranoia.”

“Would you truly have blown up the Opera? Would you have forced me down here to spend my life in misery?” She despised herself for not rewording it. The impact of her phrasing made her feel like a villain, herself. 

She raised her eyes to him, desperation and agony filling them.

“I dont know, Christine. I-I can hardly remember….,” Erik wilted, his body curving in on itself. “I knew I guess that I was relying on the adrenaline of the moment to think, to exist. I did not want to exist in those moments….to think beyond them was to realize I was an ugly monster. Undeserving and alone. But, when you turned the grasshopper and the sound of water hit my ears. I knew I had lost. I could never be someone worth living nor was I a villain worth remembering. You were always to be free. I wanted you, Christine. Not a puppet.” 

Christine choked on her own tears, “....and Buquet?” She hated asking but knew she had to. They needed to move forward.

“I killed Joseph Buquet for his ramblings of my appearance, for filling your head with ideas of my grotesqueness. I had few chances. This is not an excuse. It was a despicable act. But, I was not in the right state of mind as I heard Buquet say those things. My mind was not strong. I killed maliciously and willfully. It got worse. I couldn’t remember my name sometimes. The name I gave myself. I couldn’t remember if I had eaten or slept. I was living only to hear your voice, see your reflection in the mirror, to feel the warmth of the glass against your hand. The closest thing to intimacy I had ever received. The blessing of placing my hand against yours through the mirror. I went mad, Christine. I am ashamed. I will never forgive myself for the trauma I have left you with. For making your hands shake.” 

He took her hands in his, pressing her to his chest as he massaged the tendons in her palms. 

“I felt your hands, Erik. I felt your warmth. I felt you. I just didn’t know my angel was real. That mirror was my only respite. The only thing that pulled me from my own thoughts.” 

She pushed into him, an awkward position for a hug, but she didn't care. Erik took it upon himself to make sure she was comfortable, pulling her by the waist to straddle his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face there, as tears fell. He held her tightly, soothing her with gentle strokes along her sides and back, rocking her softly. 

Tears fell, more than she wanted to. Erik was wracking his brain, trying to think past his own tears and sobs. How could he fix this? 

Erik’s head was clear, but felt the direct impact of his sorrow. His actions were evil. Just evil. They were sadistic and selfish. He would pay for them, he knew, eventually. But, he would not seek retribution on himself, doing so would hurt Christine. 

Christine scrambled to comprehend Erik’s state of mind based on his words. How twisted could his upbringing have been to think being a torturer to a ruler would garner acceptance? To build a torture chamber to protece oneself? To kill without a thought? Could madness be understood? Was it right to love someone who thought like this? 

She wailed into his neck at the thought, pressing closer to him, wanting to embed herself inside him so she could understand better. Erik was distraught at her tears. She was inconsolable and it was his fault. He pulled her higher, wrapping his arm under her legs and the other around her waist as he rose. He kicked the piano bench back, uncaring whether it tipped or not as he strode into their bedroom. 

Christine felt as Erik sat her down on the edge of the bed and removed the dress and corset, touching her nowhere but where it was needed. She couldn’t focus long enough to acknowledge it. All she did was clutch at the fabric against his back as she stared off into space.

Was Erik evil? Was she the only one keeping him tethered to sanity? Could she live with such a responsibility? 

She waited til a thought crossed her mind, some form of emotion. 

_ But, had he not come to you clear and level headed?  _ The voice of something inside her reminded her.  _ Had he not done the work to get there, without you, even if it was _ **_for you?_ **

_ Is this as black and white as I’m making it?  _ Christine thought. She knew she feared loneliness, uncertainty. But, all her dreams were in places where Erik was beside her, where they both stood on equal ground with each other, unified against all fronts. 

She knew they could get there. She wasn’t sure if she could do anything but move forward. Was there anything more to forgive? 

She didn’t want to torture Erik. No, and she did feel a bit weightless with his answers. Perhaps, it was why she just began to cry. All that's left to do was process, process the pain, the fear, the upset, and let it pass.

She was all but coiled around him in her nightgown and stockings. He tried to set her on the bed but she was refusing to loosen her grip on his shirt. He held her, rocking her back and forth on his lap. He felt so horrid. It was an incomprehensible sensation. It felt like sandpaper rubbing at his insides, under his skin. How could she love him? How was it even possible? To grow love where a murderer stood? He didn’t deserve Christine. The reminder that it was his actions that made things worse and not his face truly shocked him to his core every time. He had always been told, and in turn always thought, that his face had made everything worse for him. He was innocent. His face was not. 

But, he was wrong. Could this really have been helped? At all? Any of this prevented? Any other way this could have ended differently? He had changed. It is why she was here with him. But, he could not help the past. All he could do now was to support her with whatever she needed.

And it looked, to his gracious surprise, that it was his presence she needed. It was he who she sought assurance from. He rubbed his lips across the skin at her temple, unable to nose her gently like a normal man would, and whispered into her ear.

“It would have been easier to die the villain….because then I could not have hurt you anymore. You and all the goodness in your heart would never have had to wonder if I was worth pitying or sympathizing with. You could have moved on without a backward glance, believing that the man who had done so much wrong was nothing more than a snake in the grass.”

Christine softened at his words. But, her heart filled with hatred. The burning hatred for those that taught him he was unlovable because of his face. To those who used his need for acceptance to twist him into a madman, a torturer. There was anger, too, at him for letting it happen. But, if that was all he knew, hate and survival, no love, how could she be so angry with him for that? No, it wasn’t anger. It was frustration. There was no one there to put blame, to have justice wreak havoc upon. They would have to move passed this together.

No, Erik had done so much to change, to move forward, to put in effort. She didn’t lead him through it, he had done it himself. Nadir woke him up, perhaps. He may have stumbled. But, he was there. Taking accountability without placing any blame on her or anyone else.

Christine felt warmth and softness on her back. Her arms still around Erik’s neck as he placed her onto the bed. Erik had removed his vest somewhere, his shirt unbuttoned to the throat. His rolled up sleeves revealed his forearms and all the scars that decorated them. 

She stared at them, laying on her side, as Erik settled in next to her. He went to pull her close, but her hand rose to trace over the scars there. 

_ He has suffered so much. Could any of us be blamed for reacting so negatively to a world interpreted only as a hateful place? _ She thought to herself. 

Christine wasn’t sure if it was clarity that brought her back. But, whatever it was, left her feeling exhausted. 

She looked up at Erik, meeting his eyes. 

“Do you wish for me to stay, Christine?” 

She waited a moment before responding, staring at the broken nose bridge at the center of his face, and the scar that cut across it. 

“Please.” 

He pulled her in close, wrapping her in blankets and his arms. She returned the embrace, she lifted her head to watch his face, just for the pleasure of it. 

She didn’t maintain eye contact with him, but rose to kiss his cheek, to kiss the tears from his eyelashes like he had done to her. He cupped her cheek in his hand, massaging her temple with his thumb and using his fingers to press into her cranium. 

She hummed softly, her eyes closing under the dozing pressure. She hadn’t realized a headache had formed till she relaxed, or how droopy her eyes were. 

Erik felt the exhaustion in his body and mind as he sank into the bed with her. His forehead ached, a pressure against his absent nasal bridge. Christine was wrapped around him as much as was around her. He didn’t need to ask to know what was going on in her head. He knew. He understood. And, this beautiful, capable woman in front of him was still with him. She wasn’t more or less because she stayed. No, it was because she needed to know. She didn’t fight to stay in a world where Angels descended from the heavens to take the requests of a lonesome girl. No, Christine dove head first into the discomfort of the truth. It was far more than he was ever capable of. 

His Christine is brave. He’ll never forget that. 

“I love you, Erik.” She met his gilded eyes. 

It still startled him that she was able to confess her love after the horror he described to her. But, he would never be ungrateful. 

“As I love you, Christine.” 

He held her to his chest, letting the exhaustion seep into his eyelids as he murmured his forgiveness into her skin, over and over until his thoughts dissolved to sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was basically a tying of loose ends. Now, the story picks up. How else will they be tested?


End file.
